


No Church In The Wild

by Porcelain_K



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Het, M/M, Male Slash, Multi, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Teen Wolf AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porcelain_K/pseuds/Porcelain_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks ago, that joke he’d made to Derek about being Little Red Riding Hood in the forest and being delicious enough to eat had rolled easily off of his tongue and had been hilarious.</p><p>Now, he was crashing through tree branches, stumbling over another fucking tree root in his underwear, and there was an equally undressed and de-juiced angel running beside him.</p><p>Now, there were things chasing them that really did think he was delicious enough to eat. </p><p>Stiles didn't find his joke so funny anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I probably shouldn't be posting this since I'm still working on What You Sow, but I was listening to this song called "No Church In The Wild" with Jay-Z, Kanye West, and Frank Ocean and my mind just started bursting with things I just had to write! Anyone reading my other story should know I'm still working on the next chapter and it should be out today or tomorrow at the latest :)
> 
> This is obviously a Supernatural/ Teen Wolf cross over(and AU) and this prologue is obviously short. Kind of dipping my toes in the water to see the general reaction to it. 
> 
> It's my first attempt at anything Teen Wolf or Supernatural.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own these characters or the fandom to which they belong.
> 
> Also, I apologize for any mistakes made in advance. I try to triple check everything, but sometimes things slip through the cracks. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

_Human beings in a mob_  
 _What’s a mob to a king?_  
 _What’s a king to a god?_  
 _What’s a god to a non-believer?_  
 _Who don’t believe in anything?_  
  
 _Will he make it out alive_  
 _All right, all right_  
 _No church in the wild....  
_ -"No Church In The Wild" Jay-Z, Kanye West, and Frank Ocean

* * *

After stumbling over what felt like the _hundredth_  tree root, Stiles felt like his legs were fucking _burning_. He was doing his best not to pant too heavily, though his efforts were a waste seeing as how they were being chased by vampires. Yes, honest to God non-sparkling in the light, allergic to garlic, _I-want-to-rip-your-throat-out-and-bath-in-your-blood_ vampires. No doubt the rushing of his blood was pounding along to his heart’s staccato of “oh-shit, this is _not_ good.” That alone was a resounding GPS for the predators tracking them. He’d never felt this worked over in his life and this was coming from someone who trained with fucking werewolves five times a week and had been tortured in a basement. He had a cut above his eye that was stinging and dripping blood into said eye and one of his wrists was definitely sprained. He was sure his stitches from earlier had re-opened and they hurt like a _bitch._  All in all, he was so done with this shit _yesterday_.

 

He knew if he was exhausted, then his current running buddy wasn't going to last much longer either. From the small bits and pieces he had learned from the blunt man in the past week and a half, Castiel only fought when necessary and didn't train as much as his boyfriend. The man sometimes seemed as if he was still getting used to doing things like a normal person, running being a prime example of that. They definitely couldn't stop running anytime soon if they wanted to have more than a sliver of a chance of _not_  beingcooling corpses by the time help arrived. Stiles knew that this wasn't Castiel's first rodeo with dying, but Stiles had _seen_ enough corpses. He didn't want to _be_ one too. Not when his life was actually starting starting to resemble something that was epic and fucking awesome.

 

He had a smokin' hot boyfriend, even if said smokin' hot boyfriend sometimes withdrew into himself and became a gigantic burning ball of man-pain from time to time (Stiles could picture the eyebrows he'd get for that statement), a best friend who _finally_ figured out the freaky, weird relationship he had going on with another werewolf in their pack and his crossbow wielding girlfriend (which everyone was thankful for because the scent of all of that sexual tensions was driving even  _Stiles_ nuts), a dad who was cool with the whole supernatural thing (well except the fact that his son was getting banged by the Alpha of Beacon Hills, but that relationship was a work in progress), the pack was solid, Chris Argent was less of a dick, and Stiles was actually learning how not to be a damsel in distress. However, that aspect obviously still needed some work since he was currently is some serious distress.

 

Stiles only had a small blade in his hand and he had already broken his baseball bat on one of the vampire’s heads, the force of the exertion needed was what sprained his already stressed wrist. He'd made the swing right before Castiel had killed one of the bloodsuckers with a wicked blade that had seemed to materialize magically from his dirty trench coat that was covering his almost-naked frame. Stiles swore that trench coat probably had a never-ending pouch that would make even JK Rowling jealous. The blade was longer than the one Stiles had and it was obviously sharp enough to chop through the neck and tendons of the female vampire that had had Castiel part-way pinned against a large tree. The sight of her head soaring into a messy arch had distracted her cohorts and had given them enough time to make a break for it because they damn sure couldn't take on the remaining eight.

 

The only silver lining to this situation, and Stiles wasn't so sure it _was_ a silver-lining, was that the vampires seemed to be toying with them. They were playing some sort of sick version of cat and mouse. They'd get close to the two of them, then pull back just when Stiles could swear one of them brushed a finger through his hair, and then let them get further away before starting over.

 

Lather. Rise. Repeat. Fun for all right?

 

It was like they were waiting on something, possibly for someone to _finally_ blow the command that meant “eat” on whatever whistle was controlling them.

At that thought, he forced his feet to pound further into the deep soil of the forest. He found it ironic how just two weeks ago, he’d let his alpha werewolf of a boyfriend chase him around playfully in these same woods.

Two weeks ago, he assumed vampires were damn near extinct.

Two weeks ago, he didn't think he’d be partnered up with anyone resembling a hunter besides the Argents.

 

Two weeks ago, that joke he’d made to Derek about being Little Red Riding Hood in the forest and being delicious enough to eat had rolled easily off of his tongue and had been hilarious.

 

Now, he was crashing through tree branches, stumbling over _another_ fucking tree root in his red underwear, and there was an equally undressed and de-juiced angel running beside him.

 

Now, there were things chasing them that really did think he was delicious enough to eat.

 

Stiles didn't find his joke so funny anymore.


	2. Stains and Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears on the mausoleum floor  
> Blood stains the coliseum doors  
> \- Jay-Z, No Church In The Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! K here with the first chapter of No Church In The Wild! I appreciate the comments/kudos/interest in the story! You guys truly are the best and I thank you so much for being patient! Since I'm officially on vacation and done with finals and anything else college related for the summer (yes!), I'll definitely have more time to update!
> 
> As a side note: This story is MOSTLY AU. The only things that somewhat loosely resemble canon is the fact that Crowley and Abaddon are fighting over hell, they need to find the First Blade, Dean has the Mark, Sam in soulless, and Cas is still running on borrowed grace and dealing with Heavenly problems. Everything else might have a bit of canon throw in there, but it'll be pretty loose. 
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: CURSING (Tsk. Tsk You can really thank Stiles and Derek for that one) SMUT, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT (not to our characters) AND VIOLENCE. If any of this squeaks you and makes you uncomfortable, no peeking!
> 
> Any mistakes found are my own. I tried to check over this as many times as possible, but sometimes mistakes still slip through the cracks.
> 
> Disclaimer: Sadly, these characters are not mine!

**Dean's POV**

The first body appeared in Winston-Salem, North Carolina and Dean Winchester hadn’t thought much of it. At the time he’d heard it over a scanner, he’d been painting a devil’s trap for a demon that’d been trying to moonlight as a reaper and the murder didn't seem related to anything that went bump in the night.

Selina Richards had been a night school teacher who routinely went to the grocery store once a week before she left to teach at the school, watered her neighbors plants whenever they asked, had a cat named Milly she treated like a child, and a boyfriend she mentioned but never brought around.

It just so happened that her routine had unexpectedly changed on a Tuesday.

On that night, she had been teaching her class key points in studying for college aptitude tests.

It was the last thing she’d ever do with them.

The next day she’d been found in the parking lot of a coliseum that held concerts for the local talent. Her body had been right by the entrance with a single gunshot wound to the head, the obvious reasoning for the blood splatters decorating the coliseum doors. Her conservative clothes were mangled to match her mangled body, and there were obvious signs of sexual assault. No one knew her supposed boyfriend so they couldn't bring him in for questioning. It was a shitty situation, Dean had to admit, but there hadn't seemed to be anything non-human about the situation besides the cameras not catching anything and the clues left were extremely scarce. Between looking for the First Blade to kill Abaddon, tending to a weary, guilt-ridden, overprotective Castiel, dealing with Sam’s large spectrum of bitch faces, and Crowley’s recent disappearance, Dean hadn't thought the murder was unusual.

Until a fifth body appeared in Waco, Texas where he and Sam were dealing with a salt and burn in an old nursing home.

Jerry Henderson had been a bartender who strictly worked the late afternoon shift that ended exactly at 9:00 PM six days a week. He was sociable, but never gave many people a look into his personal life. He was nice enough according to his boss and co-workers and was often seen leaving with the same man and woman every night. He was always on time and even worked overtime if someone else was coming in late.

He’d given his co-worked Lila Watts a kiss on the cheek in goodbye at 9:08 PM on a Friday.

Afterwards, he missed his next three shifts for the first time in the two years he’d been working there.

His body had been found in a local cemetery. It had been placed in a casket left open in the middle of a mausoleum that had a devil’s trap crudely scratched onto the lid. His throat had been ripped out along with his heart, and there had been blood smeared between his thighs. His body had been arranged so it hung halfway out of the casket. It was as if he'd been trying to crawl out of the casket, but didn't get far. Drops of dried blood and his dried tears decorated the mausoleum floor. The man and woman he was usually seen with couldn't be found.

If that wasn't a fucking cry for help then Dean would trade in his Zepplin vinyl and let someone send him to Purgatory again.

Sam had cracked open his laptop and searched online news articles. A pattern of murders somewhat fashioned after Selina's, had formed from North Carolina to Texas, Jerry being one of them. One body per state. All pertaining to people who somehow had activities that required them to be out at night and also was supposedly involved with someone who couldn't be found. It seemed as if whoever or whatever was doing this was going in a line across the good old U S of A and was having a grand old time. Those were the only connections they could make so far and the lack of information was honestly starting to piss him off.

They were in the bunker now. Sam was in the study digging through records while Dean cleaned his gun meticulously. The familiar task was giving him something to do with his hands, but he still had restless energy burning underneath, urging him to get up and be useful.

Urging him to move now before another body appeared.

He needed to move. He put the gleaming parts together for the third time and contemplated cleaning the knives next before going out for a quick hunt. Before he could reach for the blade tucked into his boot, the rustling of wings caught his attention. He felt some of his anger lift immediately at that, an effect his angel had on him.

He turned around to see Castiel standing in the doorway of the den, running a hand down his face wearily. It was a move that was so human, a stark reminder that Cas wasn't running on his own full power while he tried to sort out the angel dilemma.

“Cas, what are you doing here?” He got up and walked over the shorter male and slipped his arms into the ever-present trench coat, taking the smaller man’s weight when he leaned against him in relief. “Not that I’m complaining, but you said you’d be gone for a few days. It’s only been one.”

“Things are getting significantly more complicated in heaven than I had expected.” Castiel pulled his face away from Dean’s chest slightly, and his breath ghosted over Dean’s throat as he spoke. A part of Dean twitched in interest and Dean closed his eyes and tried to focus on the matter at hand. His cock had a tendency to have a mind of his own whenever Castiel was involved. Just last week they’d been fighting off a horde of vampires and Castiel had been thrown into Dean by an irate burly vamp. Not even a full twenty minutes after they’d killed them all, Dean had been buried balls deep in Castiel in the backseat of the Impala.

Just the reminder of that night made him attempt to repress a shiver.

“Complicated how?” He couldn't stop himself running his hands down Castiel’s back, feeling the light play of muscles underneath. It was a light balm to the agitation and helplessness he’d been feeling earlier from the lack of progress with the murders. Calming down Castiel had always been something Dean could do. Whether it was when they were in bed and Dean had his tight heat wrapped around him or just holding him as he slept the very few hours he needed to sleep, it was something he could just fucking _do_.

“One of my fellow brothers, Ambriel, had to go to ground. His human companion is missing.”

The words made Dean’s hand stop.

“Human companion? I thought you and I were the only ones who were..” Dean tried to pick out a word that didn't seem so.. _less_ than what they were. “Together?”

Castiel skimmed his fingers over Dean’s neck thoughtfully, making Dean fight harder to push down the shiver that wanted to travel through his body. Cas seemed unaware of his plight as he spoke.

“It’s not too rare for an angel to have a human companion. However, companions are significantly different than what you and I are to each other. Human companions are looked at as...” Castiel’s usually neutral voice shifted slightly to sound contemplative. “Toys? Collectibles? An angel visits their companion occasionally for a respite, but they usually have multiple ones as we are never in the same area for too long.”

Dean swallowed deeply at the thought of Castiel having a human companion, multiple ones at that. He tightened his hold.

“You said we were different?”

Cas nodded and pressed his lips to Dean’s collarbone, his lips dry but soft. “ I have no interest in acquiring a human companion when I have such an admirable significant other.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow. “Just admirable, eh?”

Castiel pulled away slightly to look at  him to give a small smile, the weariness on his face lightened some because of it.

“I've looked into your soul Dean. I've felt it. I’m a part of you as you are a part of me. We’re bonded in ways that cannot easily be undone. You are mine, and I am yours.”

Dean huffed, but let Cas see the relief in his eyes. “Damn right. So what made Am-what’s his face come down to check out the disappearance?”

“Ambriel. He came back because his companion, Jerry Henderson, appeared missing days ago. He was found but he-”

“Turned up dead, yeah I know. Sammy and I are looking into it. We've got nothing so far.” Dean could hear the gruffness in his own voice at saying it out loud.

Cas nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I figured as much. I came down to ensure nothing was amiss with you or your brother as well.”

“You mean more amiss than usual?”

Castiel’s eyebrows drew together, causing his whole face to make the expression that Sam had gleefully dubbed the "do not be an assbutt Dean" face.

“You are correct. This is the second human companion to an angel to go missing in a month. It has admittedly made me uncomfortable.” The angel began tracing patterns on Dean’s chest and Dean couldn't help but tilt his head down, grasp the angel’s wrist, and take the wandering finger between his teeth lightly.

“Uncomfortable enough to be the Winchester guardian angel until we figure this out?” He murmured around Castiel’s finger before sucking on it lightly. The air in the room shifted, becoming thicker with something more ethereal. He took Castiel’s finger from his mouth and instead tilted the shorter man’s head to the side, placing kisses along the smooth skin of his neck.

“That would be correct.” Castiel’s voice was slightly breathy and it seemed as if there was a slight glow underneath his skin from Dean’s administrations. Since they’d become them, Dean had been able to handle an angel’s grace slightly better, meaning Castiel didn't tone it down as much. Just seeing the visible evidence of Castiel letting go was starting to make Dean hard, and he’d be damn if he let an opportunity like this go to waste.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice had gotten deeper and his breath ghosted hotly over the angel’s ear.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel hands began to tug Dean’s shirt from his pants with the single-minded focus that was just pure Castiel. One of his hands pressed against the hardness in Dean’s pants and he ground against it and sank his teeth into Castiel’s neck with a pleased moan.

“Bedroom.” He panted harshly into Castiel’s ear before pulling back and grabbing his hand.

Tonight, Dean was going to lose himself in the tight heat that was his angel.

And then tomorrow, they’d start the hunt.

* * *

 

Stiles hurt.

Everywhere.

“Oh come on, I didn't even throw you that hard.” Erica said as she stalked over to him gracefully with a smirk on her painted lips.

Seriously. Who the fuck wears lipstick to training?

“Yeah that’s what you all say, yet my bruises say otherwise.” Stiles grumbled as he peered into her brown eyes from his sprawled position on the ground. In the distance he could hear the twins wrestling with Boyd while Derek was crashing through the outer edge of the forest with Scott, Isaac and Jackson.

It was a typical training day for the pack and Stiles could appreciate that it was helping him. He couldn't appreciate that sometimes training left him so sore it made Derek paranoid to do things to Stiles that Stiles could definitely appreciate later on. His Sourwolf was extremely protective sometimes that it even made Scott wince in sympathy.

“Come on, we’ll work on tracking with Derek and the others if you need to take a break.” She reached down and lifted him up swiftly without warning. He gave her a mild glare at that and she winked at him saucily before they both trudged towards the forest.

The weather was currently in a weird transition from summer to fall, so it wasn't unbearably hot and the air had a nice breeze that ruffled the edge of Stile’s thin white t-shirt and cooled his heated skin. The weather also meant that he was the most dressed one out of everyone here. Everyone else was in loose shorts or sweatpants sans shirts with the exception of Erica who was wearing a black sports bra that flaunted her figure. Fucking. Werewolves.

The pack was composed of Derek, Scott, Isaac, Jackson, Aiden, Ethan, Erica, and Boyd who were Team Wolf all of the way. Team Human of the pack was made up of Stiles, Lydia, Danny, and Allison.

Everyone had come to the training today except Lydia, Danny, and Allison. Allison had gone to the range with her father in an attempt for them to mend their seriously fucked up relationship. Chris Argent was still coping with the fact this his daughter wasn't sleeping with not one, but two werewolves and the triad was working very well. Too well if the constant, overly lovesick flushed looks on the triad’s face was any indication.

Lydia was buried somewhere in the library of the renovated Hale mansion, which stood proudly not far off, looking for something she wouldn't tell them about until she was ready. Danny had a group project due tomorrow that he was scrambling to finish with some classmates at the local library.

All in all, everyone’s presence was accounted for. Their pack had become pretty well-known and their territory hadn't had any problems from any other werewolves in what felt like ages. They were doing better and working in a way that all of their jagged edges was slowly becoming a kick ass puzzle. It was a lot better than what they had been whenever mostly everyone didn't trust or like each other. They still had a while to go, but they were getting there.

“You know, if you’re supposed to be tracking, you’re doing a terrible job,” a voice growled in his ear. Clawed hands bit into his hips and a stubbled jaw began to nuzzle into his neck.

“I don’t know, from where I’m standing it seems like Red Riding Hood is winning.” Stiles joked as he tilted his head to the size to allow Derek better access. He’d gotten used to the possessiveness that was ingrained into Derek Hale a long time ago. The tightening of his grip whenever he held Stiles, the dark bruises that marred Stiles’ skin under his clothes (he still got a faint shiver when he thought about how he got those bruises), the flash of red whenever someone got to kinky with Stiles’ on the dance floor, and the furious way he pounded Stiles’ into the mattress for aforementioned kinky dancing were just a few of the indicators that he was dating an alpha werewolf with a deep fear of losing something he cared about (though he wouldn't talk about it, but rather sulk in man-pain).

The thought of one of those nights made Stiles groan and he reached his arms back to wind around Derek’s neck and tug forcefully at the short strands of Derek’s hair.

Derek growled at the contact and pushed Stiles forward until the bark of the nearest tree was digging into his stomach through his shirt.

“The pack can hear you.” He warned Stiles, but his hands kept skimming over Stiles’ body, touching places the only he knew could set Stiles off.

“When you become apart of a pack filled with people with superhuman senses, sense of decency sort of di-d-ssappears.” Stiles’ breath hitched on the last word. It was true. After seeing so many wounds, transformations that ripped clothes, and getting caught in compromising positions, Stiles had given up on being embarrassed.

He was a full-blooded eighteen year old who had needs.

With a hot boyfriend.

One plus one equals two. Duh.

Derek pulled Stiles’ head back and lifted two fingers with blunt nails to his lips. Stiles opened his mouth and sucked the digits in hungrily. He felt himself go from almost-hard to raging at the thought of something much bigger filling his mouth instead.

He knew Derek agreed because Stiles could feel the hardness of Derek’s dick easily through his basketball shorts. The thought that he’d have to write a thank you letter for whoever invented those damn shorts was forced from his mind when Derek pressed the aforementioned dick against the swell of his ass.

“Fuck Stiles. Don’t stop sucking” Derek ordered. He kept his fingers in Stiles’ mouth and then used the hand that had been holding Stiles’ hair to give it a tug once before letting the strands go to plunge his hand into the front of Stiles’ underwear. Stiles let out a moan that he would forever deny sounded wanton, and his hips jerked automatically towards the pleasure Derek was wracking on his body.

Derek’s body was burning hot against his back as his body rutted against his ass, but Stiles’ couldn't find himself to care. It felt so fucking good. Their groans and the rustle of their clothing as they moved against each other filled the air and Stiles knew the pack could probably smell their mutual arousal from the next state over.

“You smell so fucking good.” Derek growled into his ear before nosing his way to his neck. “You smell like you’re mine.” His tongue traced rough patterns on his neck and it made Stiles push against Derek. "Are you mine Stiles?"

“Fucking yes! Bite me please Der. Shit..I want your mark on me.” Stiles pleaded and he felt Derek’s blunt teeth clamp down on his neck before he sucked Stiles neck as if he were a fucking treat. Stiles’ knew he was leaking pre-come by the wet slide of Derek’s hand on his length and he could feel Derek throbbing against his ass. Both of them were so close. Stiles’ could feel it. Derek’s thrusts became rougher and his tugs on Stiles’ dick became frantic. Stiles’ tugged harder on his hair and Derek snarled in satisfaction. He released his hold on Stiles’ neck and Stiles turned his head to crash his lips to Derek’s in a sloppy, but fierce kiss.

“I love you Stiles. So fucking much. You’re mine.” Derek said into his mouth. The smell of both of them was so thick, even Stiles could smell it.

“Love you too Derek. You’re mine.” Stiles groaned back. He felt his balls drawing up and his dick started to throb in warning in Derek’s hand. “S-so close. So fucking close.” Derek’s hand gripped him just the way he liked it and then Stiles’ was lost, coming and coming all over Derek’s hands and splattering his shorts, but he didn't care, _couldn't_ care because it felt so fucking _good_.

Derek let out a roar and Stiles could feel the warmth from his come spreading onto his back.

Both of them were panting hard as if they’d actually been training into the deep recesses of the greenery. Derek pulled his hand out of Stiles’ shorts and turned Stiles’ around so that Stiles’ could watch him lick the come off of his hand in satisfaction. With the look of satisfaction on his face, Stiles’ wondered why Derek wasn't a werepather with the way he acted sometimes.

Werepather or werewolf, watching Derek lick come with that sinful tongue was still hot. Stiles pulled Derek’s hand away from his mouth and leaned forward to capture Derek’s lips in a kiss. He could taste himself intermingled with the taste that was purely Derek as Derek swiped his tongue over Stiles’ and wrapped his arms tight around his body.

Suddenly, a breeze picked up that had been stronger than the others throughout the day and Derek stilled under Stiles’ hands. His body became as rigid as a statue and his nostrils flared. He jerked his head away from Stiles and his hazel green eyes flashed scarlet. Stiles knew this wasn't good. The loose, tender hold he'd had on Stiles was now tight with wariness.

“Derek what the fu-” his words were cut off by a piercing sound cutting through the air and suddenly the smell that had caught Derek’s attention reached Stiles’. A smell that was, unfortunately, familiar to Stiles since he and Scott had found a part of Laura Hale in the woods.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Stiles said as the pack came crashing through the woods towards them. Towards the source of the pungent smell. The sounds of them trampling through the woods still couldn't cover the piercing sound in the air.

Lydia’s voice was like a siren and her screaming, signaling death was near, seemed endless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! The first chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it! I shall be updating it by Friday along with my other verse! Thanks for tuning in and see you all next chapter! If you have any questions or concerns just shoot me an e-mail or comment. I don't bite I promise and I love hearing from you all :)


	3. Beginning Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lies on the lips of a priest  
> Thanksgiving disguised as a feast."  
> \- Jay-Z, No Church In The Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! K here with another chapter of "No Church In The Wild!" I know I was supposed to update yesterday, but I made this chapter a little longer than the last two! Also, I was having the formatting problems from hell! However, I hope you all enjoy the chapter!
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: CURSING, SMUT, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT (not to our characters) AND VIOLENCE. If any of this squeaks you and makes you uncomfortable, no peeking!
> 
> ALSO, Dean's portion of the chapter happens TWO DAYS before Stiles' portion. Read ending notes for better explanation.
> 
> Any mistakes found are my own. I tried to check over this as many times as possible, but sometimes mistakes still slip through the cracks.

The feeling of something wet at his neck made Dean’s eyes snap open without preamble.

He squirmed a bit as the wet appendage dragged slowly down his nape before wet, deliberate strokes made circles between his shoulder blades and made contact with his ink, sending sparks of pleasure through his body and causing him to groan.

“Good morning Dean. I was hoping you’d awake soon.” Cas’s voice was still slightly husky from the small amount of rest he’d gotten.

Dean could relate to the feeling of exhaustion. They’d gone numerous rounds last night. Something about Cas had seemed desperate, frantic to make sure Dean was still with him last night after they’d discussed the murders. The angel had gripped Dean’s shoulders hard, scratched his back, and had locked his legs even more tightly around Dean as he'd stabbed the sweet spot that had made Cas moan in languages long forgotten to the human tongue. By the time they’d gone their last round, it had been slow and Cas had been more pliant under his hands, keening softly and kissing him slow and deep before both of them had came apart in each others hands and drifted off to sleep.

Now, it seemed Cas was ready for another round as his hands and tongue traced the shadowed wings tattooed onto Dean’s back. Dean had gotten the tattoo months ago and Castiel had been fascinated by it ever since. His hands often lay against it whenever they lay together and his nimble fingers always traced every intricate feather from center to tip, even when Dean had on a shirt. It was if he knew the tattoo as if it were his own. Dean would admit that it might as well have been.

He’d seen the design in a window while he was picking up cleaning supplies to detail his baby. The shadows of Castiel’s wings and the feeling of soft feathers sliding between his fingers had flitted through his mind. Before he knew it, he was laying on his stomach and the buzz of the needle was filling the tattoo shop as a permanent reminder of his angel was being dug into his skin. Sometimes it felt like Cas was sending sparks through his skin when he traced the tattoo.

There were times where Dean could have sworn he even felt it shift and ripple under the angel’s fingertips.

Castiel may not have understood all of humanity and their social cues and idioms, but he understood Dean. Cas knew what the tattoo meant. He knew that Dean hadn't always pictured himself as the marrying type. It was Sammy that was supposed to get the apple pie life, not _him_. That was the plan until Dean had found Cas by the river in Purgatory. The man had been a mess with a dirty smudged face and tattered clothes, but to Dean, Cas was a slice of heaven in Purgatory. From that moment on, Dean had known he was gone.

Winchesters went all in, and his relationship with Cas was no exception. They’d been wrapped up in ways that shouldn't have been possible and there was no way to get them unglued. Dean would salt and burn, shoot, stab, exorcise, and outright  _decimate_ anyone who tried. The thought of losing his other half made a surge of something primal twist through him. He felt his chest rumble slightly as a low growl tore through his throat and the Mark of Cain burned on his arm.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas’s movements on his back stilled, and Dean could detect the worry in his voice. “I can stop if you’d like to go back to sleep.”

The blood pooling down south on Dean’s body definitely was telling him he would  _not_ like to go back to sleep.

Dean shook his head, unable to properly voice his thoughts and instead rolled onto his back to peer into Cas's face. Stubble on another man's face should not look that damn enticing. The sea of blue that was Cas’s eyes filled his vision and he pulled the slightly smaller man flush against him, their bodies slotting together perfectly.

“Does it feel like I want to go to sleep?” he rumbled, letting his hands run over Cas’s flushed skin, smirking at the way Cas’s body moved under his calloused hands.

“It feels like we’re both no longer wanting to return to sleep.” Cas moaned and Dean reached up and cupped the back of his head, guiding his mouth to meld against the angel and moaning at the sensation of their tongues sliding together, mimicking what Dean wanted the rest of his body to do to Cas.

“I bet you’re still loose from last night huh baby? I bet if I slid down there and spread you wide, I could lick and finger fuck you open. Eat you out so good until you’re wet and just slide right in there without that much preparation.” Dean growled into Castiel’s ear. The angel moaned and ground down against Dean. Both of their cocks slicked with pre-come slid against each other effortlessly.

“Do it Dean, please.” Cas begged, and Dean wasn't one to leave him asking for long. He shifted and turned their bodies so that he could marvel at the expanse of light muscles that rippled under Castiel's back. He began to lick and suck his way down Castiel's spine. His mouth worshiping every inch of skin as if Cas's body was a new religion he had yet to discover. His mind and body damn sure didn't mind praising it. He slid his hands to cup the tight ass that Cas hid under his trench coat and was about to follow through with his promise, when suddenly, the sound of pounding on the bedroom door made him halt.

“Dean! There’s been another body found in Nevada!” Sam’s voice was loud through the thick maple door and Dean could hear the apology in it. “We have to get there fast if we want to be able to get more clues on the scene.”

Dean rested his head against Cas’s skin with a groan.

“Damnit. I’m sorry Cas, but you kno-"

“I understand Dean. This could be in relation to the other deaths as well. The sooner this matter is resolved the better for those involved. Returning to heaven will be easier once this hunt is over.” Castiel reassured him.

He slid from under Dean and grabbed a pair of sweatpants that Dean had thrown next to the bed a few nights ago. The were a bit big and the sight of them hanging low on his hips, showing the sharp downward v of his narrow waist complete with his tousled ear length brown hair almost made Dean tug him back into the bed.

Almost.

“Dean! Don’t make me come in there.” Sam warned. “You have ten minutes to get showered and to meet me downstairs.” His footsteps faded and Dean winced as the sound of them echoed throughout the hall.

His and Sam’s relationship had been tumultuous lately and it felt like no matter what either of them did, it was an up and down roller coaster. They loved each other so much that sometimes it was a thin line between selfless and selfish for how protective they were on each other.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice pulled him away from thoughts of his relationship with his brother. His eyes seemed all knowing which wasn't a surprise coming from Cas, but he didn't comment on it. For that, Dean was grateful. “Let’s meet your brother.”

Dean nodded and pulled himself out of bed, partly irritated they didn't get to finish what they started and partly anxious to see the newest development in the hunt. He rounded up some clothes and headed towards the attached bathroom. He turned his head towards Cas.

“Join me?”

Castiel’s smile wasn't a full one, given the recent circumstances, but it was genuine. “As if you actually had to ask.”

They made it down to the study with twenty one seconds to spare. Sam greeted Cas with a nod and a small smile, but then his face turned serious and he was back to business.

“Contact in Nevada said there was a new body found about two hours out from Vegas. They couldn’t give me too much more since they were on the scene. No photos released yet.” Sam rifled through the papers and then organized the stacks on his desk. “It follows the trend of going across the country.”

Dean nodded as he examined the pictures, his body beginning to buzz with the restlessness he felt last night.

“Which means the next body should show up in California somewhere.”

Sam shoved the organized files carefully into his carrier bag. “Exactly, but by the time we get to Nevada the next body might already show up in California.”

“I could go to Nevada and send you the information you want. I can get there faster and it’ll make it easier for you to get to California. I will meet you there after I leave Nevada. The sooner you finish this hunt, the easier it’ll be for you to finish the Abaddon situation and for me to get back to heaven.” Castiel pointed out as he began to button up his trench coat, hiding more of the body Dean was just worshiping moments ago. The reminder of the other hunt that had been taking up most of their lives recently and the notable absence of the King of Hell made Dean scowl.

He turned to his brother. “Have you heard from Crowley yet?”

The King of Hell had been missing since they let him loose to search for the whereabouts of the First Blade. Dean didn't know whether it had to do with the demon’s own personal vices or whatever cat and mouse game he was playing with Sam. Just the thought of the two of them  _together_ made Dean's stomach curdle in the most disgusting way and for bile to rise in his throat. However, with the recent decisions he’d been making for his brother lately, Dean was struggling to let this one play out.  As soon as the First Blade was found, Crowley would show his true colors and Dean would get his chance to act then. Until then, he’d give Sam his space on the subject.

His brother had a frown tugging at his lips and his eyebrows bent in frustration. “No, I left him so many voice mails his box is full. We’re going to have to summon someone to find him.”

Dean nodded. “Let’s get baby started up and get this show on the road. We’ll summon a lackey, get his whereabouts. Knowing him, it’s probably on the way to California. We’ll round the short bastard up and head on our merry way.”

Sam rounded up the last of the files and started to head to their weapons cache. Dean and Cas followed. “I remember Bobby knew a few hunters in California. The Argents. The database on them isn't too large, but it’s pretty straight forward. The head of them is Chris Argent and his daughter Allison lives with him. They’re slightly more liberal than other hunters, but that’s all that I got from it.”

“Liberal how?” Dean asked as he pulled down an impressive looking shotgun and grabbed a duffel bag full of ammunition. He passed Cas a long blade that the angel was pretty good at wielding. Their hands lingered and the rush of familiarity from the touch eased a bit of the dread that was weighing in his stomach about this hunt. He didn't know these Argents and something told him this hunt would be different.

“I don’t know, Dean. Probably more 'Benny-Friendly' than other hunters.” Sam said as he checked the ammo in the handgun he was holding. “The bottom line is, they live in Beacon Hills. After activity closed down in Sunnydale, Beacon Hills is literally a beacon for supernatural activity. There’s a big chance the next body will show up there or in the vicinity. There’s a local wolf pack there, but from what we've got on them they aren't hostile.”

Dean wasn't going to take his chances with that. “We’ll see about that when we get there.”

Cas’s fingers stroked his tattoo through the leather of his jacket and his Henley, and Dean swore he felt feathers twitch on his shoulder blades in response.

“Dean, we can’t just assume yet. After you meet these Argents it’ll be easier to analyze the situation.” His words made sense, but it was hard to let go of the 'kill-them-all' mentality that’d been ingrained into him since he was young. Dealing with Benny had helped somewhat, but there were still times where he couldn't let it all go.

He was burning with energy and he was ready to kill something. End it's life like it ended the lives of all of those other people. His mark flared. Castiel's fingers against his back got his attention again.

He nodded and bent his head to give Cas a swift kiss with a swipe of tongue. Their foreheads rested against each other.

“Going to round up the ‘King-of-Getting-On-My-Fucking-Nerves’ and meet you in Beacon Hills Cas?” He cupped the back of the angel’s neck and gave it a firm squeeze.  

“Be safe.”

Cas gave him a smirk and another quick peck. “You as well.”

The angel stepped back and before Dean could blink, and empty space took the place of where Cas had just been occupying.

Dean slung the duffel bag of ammunition over his shoulder and Sam slid his handgun in his holster. This scene was something so familiar with how they used to be before thinsg shot to shit. He decided to test the waters a bit.

“Alright Sammy, let’s get this show on the road. Driver picks the music-”

Sam gave him a small smile, giving him a flash of his dimple as if he knew what Dean was doing.

"Shotgun shuts his cake hole."

* * *

 

The come wasn't even dry in his boxers and on the back of his shirt and Stiles was already standing in front of a dead body with a pack of werewolves surrounding him.

The sun must have risen today.

“When I told you to work on tracking, this is not what I meant,” Erica said as she stood next to Boyd. Her usual smirk was absent and the corners of her keen brown eyes assessing the situation were tight. Stiles couldn't tell if there were tight with annoyance or disgust. He’d go with a mixture of both because this body looked fucking terrible.

The body was female and definitely fresh. There was still blood pooling around her and seeping into the soil of the forest and a horde of bow flies were crawling in and out of her mouth and ears, already starting their meal The fact that the beetles hadn't shown up yet for the latest feast was a sure sign the body hadn't even had time to dry out. The patches of skin that Stiles could see on the shredded body were bronze and her former pearly white teeth were stained in blood and visible because her lips had been ripped off.  He’d said patches of skin because it looked like someone had attempted to skin her, and by the look of pain permanently etched into her unseeing brown eyes, they’d been doing it while she had been alive.

He felt his stomach churn and he swallowed down the bile that wanted to explode out of his mouth at the thought.

“You know I aim to go above and beyond,” he said weakly. A part of him felt fucked up because he wasn't totally surprised there was a dead body in the woods. This was his life.

He liked when they solved things. He liked knowing they had each other's back. However, it was usually the beginning parts when things first started happening and towards the end parts when someone almost had to die for things to get solved that he did  _not_ like.

This would definitely constitute as the beginning.

Derek’s hand rubbed his back in an attempt to still the slight shivers racing through his body.

Stiles didn't even know he had been shivering. He was thankful that Derek had wisely chosen not to rub on the wet spot he had put there not even a  full twenty minutes before.

“You guys were closest to the body. How could you not have smelled it the entire time?” Jackson asked as he glared.

The look he was giving him was lethal enough as if  _Stiles_ was the one to put the body there. Stiles was pretty sure Jackson was just being an ass because he’d gotten some action and Danny wasn't even here. Which was being pretty petty in lieu of the fact that they had a  _dead body_ standing not even five feet away from them. Trust Jackson to have his priorities in order and still have time to be a hypocrite. Stiles was  _still_ mentally scrubbing his eyes out from the time he’d caught  Jackson bending Danny over  _Stile's_ personal window seat in the library.

Asshole.

Derek’s growl was a warning and a promise all into one as he focused red eyes on Jackson.

“It wasn't here before. I caught the scent right before you guys did.”

Jackson didn't respond, and Boyd’s voice got their attention.

“Is that a collar on her neck?”

The twins slid forward and circled the body to get a better look, since Scott was looking a bit green and Stiles honestly couldn't blame him.

“It looks like some sort of copper.” Ethan observed, his nose crinkling the closer it got to the body before he pulled back.

“No, it’s brass. Lydia has a few brass statues around her house.” Aiden corrected his twin.

“Not by my doing I can assure you.” The redhead’s voice made them all turn around. Stiles was going to have to ask her how she did that one day. Sometimes the girl moved like a fucking ninja.

Her face was pale and two splotches of red stood stark against her cheeks, no doubt from the exertion of her screaming.

“Aiden is right though. It’s brass.” Her expression was grim. “And I honestly thought we had more time.”

More time? If this body had anything to do with Lydia’s research then he already knew this was going to be a long fucking ride.

“Explain.” Derek’s eyebrows were in true form and Stiles could bet he was trying to control the urge to snap at Lydia for the lack of information. She looked nonplussed at his anger and Stiles had to admit the size of her _huevos_ was one of the reasons he used to be so dumb in love with her.

“I will after we call the Sheriff and let him check this out.” Her words made something inside of Stiles halt. Not his dad. Anyone but his dad.

His dad was now in the know about things going on when the sun went down in Beacon Hills. His father was one of those parents that’d rather be informed than be blissfully ignorant. That didn't mean that he’d want to show up to a crime scene with a fucked up looking body and his son looking ravaged. Even if his dad couldn't tell, there were just some things Stiles’ couldn't, no,  _wouldn't_  do. And talking to his dad with come dried boxers and a dried wet spot on the back of his shirt was one of them.

Just no.

As if reading his mind, Lydia pointed out. “We can’t just chuck the body. We don’t exactly have a good track record for it, and if we get your dad involved he’d be a great cover story. You can shower and change at the mansion before he gets here.”

Stiles understood her logic, but that didn't mean he had to like it, “Fine, but you’re showing me your research later on.”

The redhead nodded. “That’s fair.”

“Now that we have that settled. Stiles and I will shower. Twins, guard the body. Jackson and Boyd clear up the training area. Erica and Lydia handle ordering the food for later and calling the Sheriff, and Scott can call Allison so she can give her dad a head’s up.” Derek ordered.

If he would have told them all what to do this time last year, he would have gotten a _loud_ and collective, “Fuck off!”

Now, everyone began to move seamlessly to begin their assigned tasks. At how quickly everyone began to move, Stiles couldn't resist the barb that rose from his lips at the sight of collective teamwork everyone made.

“ _Titans_! _Go!_ ”

The quick high five Scott gave him at his exclamation reminded him why they'd been best friends since the dawn of time.

* * *

 

“So let me get this straight. You two were practicing tracking in the woods, when you found the body right when Lydia sensed it,” Sheriff Stilinski said as his eyes ran over the two of them. Stiles knew he was taking in the slightly damp muscle shirt that clung to Derek’s ripped body like a second glove and his sweat pants along with Derek’s damp black hair and expressionless hazel eyes. Stiles’ wardrobe wasn't much different and his hair hadn't dried yet either. “And you had enough time to relax and take a shower before you called me.”

“Technically we showered while Lydia called, Dad.” Stiles pointed out, wisely keeping out why they had to shower in the first place. He was pretty sure his dad knew what kind of “tracking” they’d been doing in the woods.

What a nice way to convince his dad that his boyfriend really wasn't like a dog and that his son really was a classy broad.

“The point is though, this looks bump in the night related.”

The Sheriff ran a hand over his face, his eyes looking weary and Stiles felt guilt clench at him for having his dad involved in this mess. “Okay, I’ll call two of my most trusted deputies and we’ll figure out how to process the scene. Stiles, you and Derek can meet with me tomorrow after you get out of school. I'm pretty sure you and Lydia will be up all night looking this up. ”

Even though everyone was in their senior year of high school, Stiles was basically at Derek’s house more than his own most of the time. Stiles spent the night there often enough that his dad had quit panicking every time he came home to an empty house late at night. His dad, however, did require Stiles to be in the Stilinski household four nights a week. It was more than Stiles had expected to get out of his dad, so he wasn't complaining. Stiles was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. His GPA and the IB classes that were attempting to kill him could confirm that.

“Okay Dad, we’ll see you tomorrow. The twins will stay out here at a distance while you guys process it.” Stiles gave his dad a quick, but firm hug and received a quick pat on the back.

“Alright son, you guys be careful. You know how I feel about all of this,” the Sheriff said and gave a pointed look to Derek. “Watch out for my boy.”

Derek’s facial expression was serious and Stiles wisely didn't point out all of the times it was _him_ that saved Derek’s ass. “With my life sir.”

The Sheriff gave them a nod. “Alright boys, get lost.”

* * *

 

"So I've been profiling murders lately,” Lydia started. She picked out a large onion from her fried rice with her chopsticks and dumped the greasy appendage into Erica’s takeout container.

The blonde gave her a mild glare, but stabbed the onion with her fork before eating it anyway.

Females.

The pack sans the twins, Scott, Allison, Danny, and Jackson were arranged around the living room gorging on take out while Lydia decided to debrief them on just what the hell was going on.

“Okay, profiling murders. Check. Keep going.” Derek urged, his voice sending vibrations down his chest that Stile’s could feel down his back as he sat between Derek’s legs on the couch. He picked up an egg roll and took a bite of it before stuffing it subtly into Derek’s mouth, partly because he could get away with it and partly to keep Sourwolf from pissing Lydia off. Stiles learned the hard way that the _more_ you tried to force Lydia to do something, the _less_ your way it actually went.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I was getting on with it. Lately there’s been a string of murders popping up over the country. In a particular pattern. First murder started in North Carolina and sort of went straight across.” The red head put her carton of food down and reached behind her. She brandished a manila looking envelope that Stiles was all too familiar with. It was the same envelopes he used whenever he go into a topic and dived deep into it.

“Here is what I could find for each one.” Lydia scattered pictures around the cartons of take-out carefully so everyone could look. If Stiles thought the body today was bad, the other murders looked just as worse. He analyzed each photo, trying to find a common thread as he looked at Lydia’s neat cursive scrawled onto each photo.

“Let me guess, these are all somehow connected to some night-time big bad?” He asked her as he noticed the particulars of each murder. Heart’s missing. Skin missing. Obvious signs of sexual assault. Well there went his appetite. He shoved his carton over to Boyd. That guy could eat anything, no matter the circumstances. Fucking werewolves.

“Got it. I just don’t know _what_ is exactly doing these murders. It seems like different monsters could have done each, but _why_ this pattern?” Lydia’s lips were pulled into a frown, something that happened when she wasn't getting her way. Stiles rarely saw it.

“You said it was going across the country right? Isn't California pretty much the end of line?” Erica pointed a fork with a bit of lo mein still wrapped around the end of it at the map of the US Lydia had laying next to the pictures. “Unless, it’s going to go back the other way in a different pattern.”

 She had a good point, but Stiles knew better. Whatever this was came this way for a reason. As if reading his thoughts, Derek shook his head.

 “I don’t think that’s it. It’s been killing people, but it could be looking for something.”

 Stiles gripped the fabric encasing Derek’s thighs tightly. With a large werewolf pack that included a banshee and a strange hybrid lizard, Stiles being considered a budding spark, and a hunter banging two werewolves, they were like a goody basket for anyone that wanted to go hunting.

 “The question is,” he felt his throat start to go dry at the endless possibilities going through his head, “who’s next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! Thanks for taking the time out to read! I really appreciate the comment, kudos, etc. I've been getting for this story. You guys are truly the best, and I thank you for being patient! Any questions you can comment or just shoot me an e-mail (info on my profile) or just drop in to say hello:) I don't bite ;) I hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> REMINDER- Dean's portion of the chapter happens TWO DAYS before Stile's portion. So when the body was discovered in Nevada, the body in California hadn't shown up yet. By the time the body in California had appeared, the boys were on their way to California!


	4. Ready, Aim, Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headaches all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! K here with another chapter of "No Church In The Wild!" Just a heads-up before you read this chapter, in this chapter Dean's portion is happening on the SAME DAY as Stiles' portion. Read end-notes for clarification if you need it.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: CURSING AND VIOLENCE. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own :(
> 
> Any mistakes found are my own. I tried to check over this as many times as possible, but sometimes mistakes still slip through the cracks

**Dean's POV**

Dean’s first impression of Beacon Hills when they entered its city limits was that the place was _strange_. It wasn't as obvious as "Dr. Seuss" kind of strange, but when you grew up _hunting_ strange, Dean could spot it from miles away. Wary glances were being thrown their way at the few red lights and stop signs that the town actually did have. The glances weren't ones that were _curious._ Instead, they were _cautious._ It was as if the people of the town didn't know whether to give them welcoming waves or to duck away from them.

Beacon Hills was one of _those_ towns. It was where everyone seemed to know everyone and there was an undercurrent rippling under the surface of the town that the town knew about, but didn't actually _talk_ about. Growing up in one of those small towns before his life _literally_ burst into flames, Dean knew getting any sort of information out of anyone in this town was going to be a hassle.

And that was his opinion before Crowley opened his mouth.

“Well Moose, when you said we were going on a trip, I thought the destination would look a lot less like 'Green Acres',” The King of Hell drawled.

The demon was sprawled across the back seat as if he didn't have a care in the world. Dean would chalk that up to the fact that he still had human blood flowing through him and was probably still just as high as the moment they had found him six and a half hours ago.

The King of Being Useless had been tucked away in an extravagant hotel along the coast, not too far away from San Francisco where he had met his last lead on the First Blade. After his meeting, he’d decided to indulge on the local fanfare and had lost track of time since then. Well, that was the excuse he’d give Dean and Sam. They hadn't found any dead bodies around the room, but Dean knew that didn't mean that one hadn't been there before.

It’d just been empty take out containers, broken alcohol bottles, and empty blood bags in the trashcan strewn among the regular over-the-top decor of the hotel. If Sam had a strong objection to Dean slicing through Crowley once the Abbadon situation was cleared up, he knew his brother’s excuses were starting to wind down.

The moment his little brother had looked into Crowley’s glazed eyes and spotted the demon's cell phone sitting untouched on the nightstand, lit up with a full charge, Dean knew Crowley had just started signing his name on a certified certificate to Purgatory. He figured Crowley knew he’d fucked up since he wouldn't be too helpful until the human blood in his veins wore off. The demon hadn't objected too much on their side quest because of his fuck up and hadn't said much during the trip. Now, it seemed that streak had ended.

“Is there at least a hotel with _half_ a star around here?” The shorter man sat up gingerly and leaned forward, resting his head onto the back of Sam’s seat. They were currently passing a subdivision that was not too far from the local high school according to the signs and Dean figured it was around lunch for the students.

It meant they had time before students got out and traffic became a bitch to deal with, small town or no. He wanted to find a place to settle in for the night, clean his weapons, go over the murder files Sam had packed, scope out the town some more, and get a good pie before they had to get to Argent’s at seven.

With the details of the things they had to do going through his head, he was going to tell Crowley where he could shove his opinion on where they were going to sleep, but Sam’s face morphed into bitch face number sixteen and it _wasn't_ being directed at him. Dean knew he didn't have to say a word when his brother’s mouth opened up and his eyes flashed an irritated glare to the demon in the backseat.

“If you’d prefer the trunk, we can arrange that. We’ll even throw in a pillow for comfort.”

Dean could feel Crowley holding back one of his usual sharp retorts. “On second thought, a half star sounds _marvelous_.”

Sam nodded. “Thought so.”

His brother pulled out his cell phone and opened up the map app he’d been scrolling through earlier. “There should be a diner coming up on your right two blocks down. It has thirty six reviews saying their pie and fries are pretty good.”

“That’s the sweetest thing you've ever said to me.” Dean smirked. “We can go there and get some food, head to a hotel, get things squared away and get ready for the tea party.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

  **Dean's POV**

“Okay, so Argent will meet us at his place, along with the Alpha of the local pack and one of his wolves,” Sam said as he slid into the plastic booth they’d chosen to sit in at the back of the diner. Crowley was currently splitting his time between looking at the dessert cooler and flipping through the jukebox not far from it. He was entertained and not too many people were around so Dean and Sam let him have at it. Dean had been enjoying his burger and fries while Sam had stepped outside to talk to Argent.

Now at the mention of the pack, Dean felt some of the fries he’d been eating turn to ash.

“I take it this is what you meant when you said he was ‘liberal’ earlier.” He tipped his empty beer bottle in the air towards the waitress, signaling another.

He wished they had something stronger.

“It was either I agreed to that, or he wasn't going to meet us at all. Besides, he told me another body was found yesterday and the pack was our best shot at figuring this stuff out Dean.”

As if sensing the tension slowly rising, the harsh sound of his phone vibrating on the cracked table between them interrupted them.

A quick glance down showed the familiar number belonging to Cas flashing across the screen.

“Well let us take a guess, it’s your messenger pigeon.” Crowley snickered from across the room. Dean shot him a look that he hoped sincerely portrayed how he felt about the bastard at the moment before he swiped his thumb across the screen.

“What do you have for me Cas?” he pushed his plate of fries away and Sam shrugged before taking some. The waitress came over and gave him a smile before handing over his beer. He gave her a nod of thanks and focused on the sound of Castiel's voice.

“The body is completely dismembered Dean.” Cas’s voice was matter of fact. “It looks like it was done by a species I could have sworn was extinct.”

“Well that’s definitely good,” he said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. He mouthed a silent “later” to Sam’s questioning look and took a deep gulp of his beer.

“If it’s what I think it is, then no, this is definitely not good.” Cas said somewhat sternly.

They were still working on him detecting sarcasm, but Dean knew now was not the time to point it out. “The only bright side is that it looks like they didn't do the other murders, so there can't be too many of them that did this one.” He listed to the rustling of papers on Castiel’s end before the angel continued. “I tried to send a fax to Mr. Argent, but the machine kept giving me blank pieces of paper.”

Dean winced. It wasn't a secret that technology _still_ wasn't Castiel’s strongest suit. It had taken Sam three days to teach Cas how to work through the touch screen phone they had gotten him. It had taken Dean even longer to show him how to text with it.

“Are you still with Sam’s contact?” Dean slid out of the booth and walked outside to stand next to his baby in the nearly empty parking lot.

“Yes, he agreed to send the fax for me. I shall be there later on towards the evening.” Castiel’s voice sounded hesitant. “Dean, after I make it to you...I won’t be able to travel like this again unless I’m returning. I’m almost empty.”

Dean ran a hand down his face at the admission. “Then why did you offer to go? We could have made the trip Cas.”

“Because time is not on our side and I had to do what I deemed was necessary.”

And he would. Without a doubt. That was the angel _and_ the Winchester in him. If he thought it would keep him and Sammy out of harm’s way and get things done, Cas would risk himself in a heartbeat. With the shit they had going on now, self-sacrificing outside of the whole heaven and hell situation was not ideal. Cas sacrificing himself  _at all_ was not the deal.

“What you deemed necessary was also dangerous. What if someone spots you now? You’re empty Cas!” He felt his tattoo ripple and shift uncomfortably and his entire body started to buzz with the restlessness he’d felt a few days before. He rolled his shoulders to try to alleviate it to no avail.

“Almost empty.” Cas corrected him. “And you’re right. Next time, I’ll just stay where I can be more of use. See you later on tonight.”  He hung up.

Dean groaned in frustration and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

When he walked back into the diner he saw Sam and Crowley bickering over the last bit of fries left on the table. The waitress who had given him another beer not too long ago was holding the slice of pie he’d ordered to eat earlier when they’d first walked in and was giving their booth a wary glance.

He felt a headache start to form and a flash of anger at all of the unnecessary _shit_ that was making its way into this hunt.

“Okay ladies, shut it and let’s go.” He growled and dug into his wallet to throw a crumpled fifty on the table. He gave the waitress a nod of apology and waved away the slice of pie she made to offer him. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Sam looked at him in shock, and Crowley fell silent but they both got into the car without acknowledging the fries they’d been so adamant about earlier. Dean knew they were probably using the fries as a guise to argue about something else, but right now he honestly could care less.

The ride to the hotel was made in silence, and then and there Dean made a resolution.

He knew that if he didn't get something to kill soon, he just might lose it.

* * *

**Stiles' POV**

Stiles poked at the congealed mess of food on his tray that was supposed to be “lunch” and grimaced. If the aim was to make sure that there was going to be leftovers for tomorrow, then the school system was doing a damn good job. A quick glance at the students who’d gotten to the cafeteria a little earlier like he and Scott, showed the same looks of distrust at the food.

He looked at his best friend who was looking at his food as if it had personally offended him.

“Scott, even though it’s labeled ‘mystery meat’ can you actually sniff out what the hell this is?”

“You don’t want to know.”

If his werewolf best friend who would eat _anything_  was warning him not to touch it, Stiles didn't need to be told twice. The pack ate enough food to keep the grocery store in town in business, even though Erica would deny eating as much as the guys. Despite the fact that Stiles _always_ went through a mysterious shortage of Twinkies whenever she was around.

With how hard she could throw him during practice, he never commented on it.

“Right. Don’t eat it,” was all he got out before he spotted Allison entering the cafeteria with a lunch box slung over her shoulder easily like one of her weapons. Stiles wouldn't be surprised if her lunch box could turn into some kind of weapon.

With the shit he’d seen her make with a pen cap, crazy glue, eraser tips, and her headband, he didn't put anything past her.

“Hey Stiles,” she greeted him with a smile before turning to Scott and giving him a welcoming kiss that Stiles was pretty sure was against school policy. “Hey you, Isaac should be here in a few with the others.”

Scott gave her a smile that quickly signified that he had officially checked out of the building, leaving Stiles and Allison the only two fully attentive teenagers at the table.

He really felt the love with his best friend sometimes.

Stiles would be worried about how quickly Scott dropped his situational awareness whenever Isaac or Allison was around if it wasn't for the fact that the other two legs of their triangle knew how to snap Scott out of it with the right amount of prodding.

Prodding that Stiles, thankfully, wasn't privy to that often.

“So Stiles,” Allison turned to him as she began to unload her lunchbox and Stiles would be a liar if he said his stomach didn't jump with excitement at the large container of sliced peaches she pulled out. “Scott caught me up with everything that happened yesterday.” Her eyes looked at him and they weren't full of sympathy, but understanding.

In the time they’d known each other, seeing gruesome things hadn't gotten easier over time, but they all knew it was inevitable at some point. Allison was just lucky she didn't know how _close_ the exposed meat of the body they found yesterday resembled the “meat” they had been served for lunch today. He pushed his tray away with a disgusted sigh at the thought.

“Yeah, it was a party,” he said. “Flies were swarming and all.”

Allison winced and nudged the container of peaches towards Stiles in consolation. If Stiles wasn't into rock hard abs, an ass that he literally bounced a quarter off of once (despite Derek swiping his Mountain Dew in retaliation), and the whole being-in-love with Derek thing, he’d offer to have Allison’s first born for the gesture. He swiped the container and dug in while Allison gave Scott her sandwich and started to eat her grapes.

“So I know Lydia has been doing research at Derek’s,” she stated, “why don’t you come by and look at my bestiary today? That way Lydia can just pick up where she left off at Derek’s and you won’t be re-reading what she’s already done.”

It was a valid suggestion and Stiles had been going through the Argent bestiary before Derek’s library had been fully restored six months ago. He was more familiar with the creatures in it and going through it wouldn't be as bad, knowing Lydia had already gotten a pattern going at Derek’s.

“Dude, didn't you have to meet your dad and Derek after school today?” Ethan chipped in as he and Aiden each took a seat on either side of Stiles. Aiden reached for one of his peaches and Stiles promptly stabbed him with his plastic spork. The twin started to do a sad imitation of a guilty expression, but Stiles couldn't find a fuck to give when there wasn't even any indents from the attempted shanking Stiles had just tried with his spork.

Fucking. Werewolves.

He popped a peach into his mouth instead. “Yeah, I do, but I’m sure that can happen later on tonight instead. The sooner I can start going through the bestiary, the more ground I can cover.”

He pulled out his phone and typed out a text to let Derek and his dad know, making sure to tack on a few inappropriate emojis for Derek’s text and reassurances that he’ll actually _be_ where he says he’s going for his dad’s text. He made sure to double check that he sent each text to their respective recipients because last time he’d accidentally sent his dad a text that was meant for Derek, his dad couldn't look at him without a red tinge to his face for a week. The red had been a mixture of embarrassment and anger and his dad had eaten a double bacon cheeseburger with a large order of curly fries he didn't even share with Stiles as retaliation.

When a Stilinski got even, they got _even_.

“Well if it isn't our own personal island of misfits.” Erica snapped him out of his thoughts and ran a hand through Stiles’ hair affectionately before she sat down next to Allison with Boyd on her left. Isaac sat down next to Scott and Lydia sat next to Aiden, while Jackson and Danny sat on Ethan’s right.

“Looks like you found something else that’s disgusting,” Jackson sneered at the abandoned food.

Danny punched him and eyed him in warning. “Jackson, not here.”

“He’s right,” Lydia pulled a bag of apple slices out of her bag. “The school cafeteria is definitely not the place.”

“Stiles agreed to come over to my place after school to go through the bestiary,” Allison said as she handed Isaac her fruit roll-up. He flashed her a smile and pried open the treat. “I’m sure between the two of you going through it, this will be wrapped up in no time.”

Stiles shrugged. He wouldn’t get too excited yet.

Whenever they got too hopeful, shit tended to hit the fan.

* * *

**Stiles' POV**

Stiles clutched the thick, ancient book on trolls in his hand and pressed against the large floor-to-ceiling window at his back. The only thing that kept him from throwing it at the creepy fucker standing in front of him was the very thought of an arrow through his throat if he ruined a book that had been in the Argent family for _hundreds_ of years.

But even that image was starting to become null and void in light of the fact that the sharply dressed man in front of him was eyeing Stiles like an open buffet.

Whenever he got that look two things happened: he was on the receiving end of mind-blowing sex with Derek or he was getting attacked in a way that _didn't_ end in orgasms.

Lack of angry brows and rock hard abs were large indicators that this guy was definitely _not_ Derek.

 _Get the fuck out of her_ e was clearly the name of this game.

“You know, if you wanted this book I can just leave it over there,” he gestured to the corner table where he had been going through research for the past four hours since he had gotten out of school. “I was getting ready to get out of here anyway. No hard feelings.”

"It’s quite alright. I’m not a large fan of trolls. They’re a bit too nice for my taste.” The book flew from his hand and Stiles flew against the window. His head banged against the pane and for a moment he saw black spots as what felt like invisible hands tightly wrapped around his throat.

If this guy thought the things that flipped Stiles’ jeep eight months ago were fucking nice, then what the hell did he classify as _mean_?

The throbbing in the back of his head and his lack of oxygen was his answer.

Out of all the times for him to turn down picking up take out with Allison, he had to choose today

He’d pat himself on the back for his ~~genius~~ thinking later.

He tried not to entertain the thought that if someone didn't show up soon, then he might not _have_ a later.

“You know, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” he gasped and tried to move his arms. He wasn't surprised that they wouldn't move.

“Bottom line is that I caught _you_.” A careless shrug and Stiles was flipped upside down. His phone slid from his pocket and crashed to the floor, splintering into a million pieces. Stiles couldn't even open his mouth to show his indignation. The room was starting to blur and he could hear the loud  _whooshing_ of blood rushing to his head.

“I’ll have to make this quick before-”

A loud roar followed by what sounded like thunder interrupted his sentence and Stiles hit the floor _hard_.

If he wasn't concussed before, he definitely was now.

Hands ran over his body and Stiles tried to push them away weakly before the worried visages of two Scotts and three Isaacs filled his vision.

“Stiles! Stiles, are you okay man?” The Scott on the farthest left asked as he carefully propped him up against the bottom of the window and turned his head towards him. “Focus on me man.”

Stiles gingerly touched the back of his head and winced as his fingers grazed a tender spot. “I’m trying to, but there are too many of you.”

“The fact that you’re breathing is progress. As soon as we came in Derek heard your heartbeat stuttering. The rest is history,” Isaac said gesturing to the brawl going on behind them.

Sure enough Derek was currently thrashing through the library with the man that’d had Stiles pinned. Even if everything wasn't unfocused Stiles wouldn't have been able to follow their movements.

They were moving so  _fast_.

Derek was lethal, all fangs and fur as he snarled and clawed at Stiles’ attacker. The man was giving as good as he got, small metal glinting under the ceiling lights slashed at Derek’s canine body. Blood arched through the air and splattered on the nearest surfaces and Stiles just _knew_ someone was getting a bullet in them tonight.

Since he’d been dropped five feet, he graciously took himself out of the running.

“You two can go help Derek.” Stiles cradled his head and tried not to groan at the twinge of pain that flared in his right wrist.

“Are you sure? You’re not looking too good.” Scott ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair to cradle his palm at the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles saw his black veins under his tan skin twitch as the throbbing pain in Stiles’ head started to slowly recede bit by bit. He let out a small moan of relief but pushed Scott’s hand away. He’d rather deal with a killer headache than the possibility of his boyfriend getting his leg cut off by a pervert who had bad touched Stiles with his eyes.

Before Scott and Isaac could answer him everything happened so fast.

A gun went off and Derek’s roar of pain followed it.

It was _loud_ , so fucking loud.

It filled Stiles’ ears and seeped through his bones and squeezed his insides so hard, he thought he was back up against the window without a breath to spare.

He gasped and lurched towards his boyfriend. Instead of letting him go, Isaac threw him down and covered him, but Stiles could still see the clumsy movement of Derek’s limbs as he changed back into his human form. Rippling skin was covered in gashes and a large bullet hole was stuck in his shoulder. Scott was standing over the wounded Alpha and growling angrily to whoever owned the scuffed steel-toe boots that stood in the doorway of the library.

He couldn't see the creepy guy from earlier.

“Mr. Winchester, I suggest you drop your gun before my daughter puts an arrow through your heart.”

Stiles had never been so happy to hear Chris Argent utter a threat in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! Thanks for taking the time out to read! I really appreciate the comment, kudos, subscribers etc. I've been getting for this story. You guys are truly the best, and I thank you for being patient! Any questions? You can comment or just shoot me an e-mail (info on my profile) or just drop in to say hello:) I don't bite ;) I hope you all enjoyed
> 
> REMINDER- Dean's portion of the story happens on the SAME day at Stiles' portion of the story. When Dean is thinking that it's almost lunch time for the high school, Stiles is poking at the mystery meat! Hope that helps :)
> 
> Also, I ventured out on a limb and got a tumblr (link on my profile and below). Feel free to follow, and I'll of course follow back!
> 
> (http://fartherthantherabbithole.tumblr.com)


	5. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I stand by you..."  
> -The Dream, No Church In The Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! K here with another chapter of "No Church In The Wild!" I know it's been awhile since I've updated it, and BECAUSE of that...this chapter is TRIPLE the length of my usual chapter updates so get comfortable because it's not a short read!
> 
> ALSO, Dean/Cas FINALLY meet Stiles/Derek sans guns so I tried to make each person's timeline/POV as clear as possible. If there's any confusions just ask and I'll clarify for you:) As with the usual trend, Dean's POV is first and then Stiles' POV in the second half of the chapter.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Cursing, violence, discussions of body mutilation, and SMUT! Yes, there's SMUT of the MALE/MALE variety in BOTH POV's! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own :(
> 
> Any mistakes found are my own. I tried to check over this as many times as possible, but sometimes mistakes still slip through the cracks

**Dean's POV (Present, Right After Derek Was Shot)....**

“Dean what the hell was that!” Sam threw his duffle bag angrily and it landed with a harsh _thump_ onto the king sized bed he’d been given for their stay.

Chris had s _uggested_ that the brothers and Castiel, whenever he finally decided to make an appearance, stay with them for the duration of this hunt after Dean’s fuck-up that had just gone down less than an hour ago. With an arrow, two guns, and multiple werewolves-including an injured and pissed off Alpha, surrounding him and Sam, turning down his suggestion didn't exactly seem optional.

Hell, at least the rooms were nicer than their hotel.

But why _had_ he shot the werewolf when it was going at Crowley? When he took in the injured boy and the furious way the werewolf slashed at Crowley, it didn't take a genius to put the situation together. Dean _knew_ the King of Hell. He knew the man had a way with words that could cause even the saintliest peaceful person to want to commit homicide and gladly go to prison for it. Hell, even Castiel had threatened to kill the man a time or two. It was just Crowley’s personality.

Dean and Sam had known Crowley’s bender with human blood hadn't been pretty, but Dean had thought he’d at least have more of a mind not to fuck this up. He knew he’d shot the wrong person the minute his finger had brushed the trigger, but he still was trying to figure the hell out why.

Earlier, he and Sam had just been discussing the different contact opinions of the murders with Chris Argent when three blurs had barreled past them. The next thing Dean knew, the Mark on his arm was burning so damn _bad_. There were very few words that could even begin to describe the agony that ripped through his body.

It had felt painfully _angry_ , starting from his arm and blazing through him so fierce and fast, it almost took Dean’s breath away and made him bite his cheek to keep his composure. Swallowing his own blood and tasting the metallic tang of it on his tongue had only added fuel to the fire. It was coursing through him and Dean had just wanted it all to fucking _stop_. To end and never happen again.

He didn't feel his feet moving.

Didn't feel his hands sliding with an automatic familiarity down the worn surface of his gun. Didn't feel his shoulders hunch in anticipation of the recoil.

Didn't notice how easily his finger pulled the trigger.

He just heard the ringing of the gunshot through his ears, the sound of a pissed off werewolf following it, and the soft strain of an arrow being notched in his direction.

He swallowed as he remembered the look of disbelief that had filled Sam’s face as he had took in the cluster-fuck Crowley and Dean had caused.

_What did you do Dean? What the hell did you just do?_

Chris Argent had immediately herded Sam and Dean away from the library and showed them to their new accommodations with clear orders. "If you guys come down before they cool off, you're dead."

With the older hunter's words echoing through his head, Dean turned to his brother. “I don’t know what happened Sammy. I was aiming for Crowley.”

It was lie and by the tightening of Sam’s jaw he knew it. He didn't call him on it and Dean knew he wouldn't call him on it.

Yet.

This would just be another brick being laid in the wall being built between them. Dean didn't want it to be this way, but his brother had already been through so much shit. The both of them had, and he didn't want to think about the risks Sam would put himself in to try to help Dean figure out what the fuck was wrong with him. They had an order to follow.

This hunt. The knife. Abaddon. Metratron.

Dean’s fucked up head-space could come after.

A brisk knock on the bedroom door interrupted their silent showdown and the door swung open. A slim redhead sauntered in and the look she gave them was less than friendly. In fact, it was down right homicidal. The way her manicured nails dug into her palms suggested she was physically restraining herself from attacking them.

“There’s a meeting going on in the study. If you could keep your hands to yourselves you’re welcome to join,” she said primly. “I’ll show you the way.” And with that she gave them her back and left the room, not doubt expecting them to follow.

“I’ll go track down Crowley while you meet with them.” Sam opened the duffel he’d thrown on the bed and dug out vials of holy water. “With what you just pulled we need to fire on all cylinders and Crowley knows he fucked up. I can use him to visit all of the sites where the previous bodies were found.”

And leave Dean alone in a room full of people who know doubt wanted to tear him apart. It was a shit plan, but they were good at working with shit plans.

He nodded at his brother. “Make it fast. If he needed a fix that badly, he definitely couldn't have gone too far.”

Sam shoved the vials into his pocket before tucking one of his hand guns in the waist of his jeans. “I have an idea where he might be. We’ll be back by midnight.”

Dean knew he could slip in a Cinderella reference, but he let it slide and instead tucked a small knife in his boot and followed Sam out of the door.The redhead was waiting in the hallway with her arms tightly crossed around her torso and a small scowl on her face.

“Some time before the new season of Project Runway starts tonight? I dislike being late.” With no further comment, she turned so sharply on her golden ballet flats that Dean was surprised she didn't turn a full 360.

He shared a look with Sam at the curt behavior, but the taller man shrugged and followed her with Dean not too far behind. He had a heavy feeling that she was close with whoever Crowley had attacked.

When the three of them entered the main foyer of the house, Sam broke away.

“I um- I’m going to go find someone. Dean will meet with you guys and catch me up. I’ll be back by midnight at the latest.” Sam stammered as he headed for the door. “I’m Sam by the way.”

A shrug in return. “Lydia. If you’re going to find the classless piece of trash that attacked Stiles and fought with Derek, I suggest you understand he’s worn out his welcome unless he can be useful.”

 _And both of you have too._ Was unspoken but they both got the message.

“Understood.” Sam gave them both a nod before he opened the front door and left like the devil was on his heels instead of the other way around.

“Well let’s hope he keeps that sort of hustle. Since he was Sam, I’m assuming you’re Dean,” Lydia said as she lead him down a hallway branching off to the left of the foyer. "It's best if you don't sit next to Derek then. He takes being shot very personally."

 _I'm pretty sure a lot of people do._ He smirked to himself at the thought, but also nodded in agreement.

“Got that. Right.”

They made a right onto another hallway and further down Dean could see two figures standing outside what had to be the study.

They were both male. One huge with a thick muscled build and dark skin with electric blue eyes sizing him up with feigned disinterest. Dean knew if he even made one small move the man would be on him. He lifted his chin in acknowledgment and looked at the other male.

He was all tan skin and a tall, lean build with dark curly hair. Dean vaguely remembered his face glaring at him in warning and anger as the burn that had been ripping through his body started to ebb away after he’d shot the wolf earlier. There was distrust in his eyes and he smiled a slightly toothy fang at Dean as his eyes flashed electric blue as well.

“This is Scott, but I've heard you've met already.” She nodded towards the curly haired teen.

“Yes we have.” Dean cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the awkward tension that was building in the hallway.

Schmoozing over with people _after_ things went to shit was Sam’s job, Dean was the charmer _before_ things went to shit. “I’m sorry about earlier. I um- was aiming for the guy in the suit.”

The guy with the muscled build snorted. “You wouldn't be the first person to try to kill us and you won’t be the last. Go inside.”

Dean clenched his jaw at the kid’s audacity, but gave him a curt nod. He’d let him have this one. He let Lydia walk ahead of him and followed behind her, watching the sway of her strawberry curls before sweeping his eyes over the occupants of the room they entered.

The room wasn't overtly large, but it smelled strongly of cedar and lemon with polished wood fixtures and a large fire place where everyone was gathered around on various chairs. Everyone meaning Chris Argent, his daughter Allison with a blonde boy plastered to her side, the Alpha wolf from earlier with the teen Crowley had attacked earlier curled into his lap, and Castiel.

He felt something in him clench at that.

The fact that he _hadn't_ known that his angel had arrived was a sure sign something was fucked up. He’d always been able to tell, no matter the time or place, whenever Castiel had arrive. The usual rustling of wings reaching his ears and the feel of the most minuscule amount of grace seeking him out was always an indicator.

But he hadn't felt anything.

“Chris, Allison, Isaac, Derek, Stiles. Castiel.” Lydia pointed out to each person she named, as if everyone in the room where children in kindergarten. Dean had a feeling she made people feel like that a lot of the time. She then pointed to Dean. “This is Dean Winchester as well all know. Sam Winchester, the taller one, went to go fix the screw up from earlier.”

The Alpha wolf, _Derek_ , Dean reminded himself, looked like he wanted to protest his brother’s absence but the glare Lydia shot his way had the boy in his lap patting his chest and made the red eyed man clamp his mouth down tightly.

Dean nodded and took a deep breath, steadying himself against the palpable tension in the room.

He could feel Castiel’s unwavering gaze burning into him. “Look, I know how we started off was a terrible, but I can assure you that’s not how we usually roll.” He locked his eyes onto Stiles. “I’m sorry about Crowley’s attack on you. My brother is looking for that son-of-a-bitch as we speak. If he wasn't going to be useful to us all alive then he’d be dead by now.”

Someone could drop a pin and the sound would echo across the room with how silent everything was.

Finally, a throat cleared. It was Stiles.

“Look, honestly we've all been through and forgiven worse.” By the way Allison and Chris Argent’s eyes shifted, Dean could take a guess at who had messed that one up.

 _Huh, hypocrite hunters, who knew?_ He thought sarcastically as his partnership with Benny and the fact that he had made an angel an honorary Winchester came to mind. It would explain why the Argents were so protective now.

Guilt could do all kinds of things to a person.

“If you can just keep him and his love of trying to kill others to a minimum of ‘zero,’ we’ll all get along just fine,” Stiles finished.

Dean didn't miss clench of the Alpha’s jaw or the way his black veined arms visibly tightened around Stiles. He wasn't going to be forgiven by the guy anytime soon for shooting him or being indirectly blamed for Crowley’s actions, but Derek seemed just as resigned to this partnership as Dean did.

Dean’s eyes flickered over to Castiel and the pools of blue were carefully blank, not giving anything away, letting Dean know he still had one more apology to make. He nodded his head in resolve.

“No, problem.”

After that, the mood in the air shifted. The tension in the air was still there, but less so. Instead, the air was filled with determination. The kind of determination that they all were familiar with.

The kind that said if they didn't find this killer, a lot more victims would show up-and it could be one of them.

* * *

**Dean's POV (Twenty Minutes Later)...**

“So you’re saying that the scent wasn't there when you guys had first been in the forest?” Sam asked as he sorted through all of the photos Argent and the pack had spread over the large coffee table.

He had returned back with Crowley not too long after Dean had sat down and Allison had taken out the photos Lydia had given the Argents. After Crowley had taken his well deserved punch in the face from Stiles’ non-injured hand and _man did that kid punch the shit out of him_ , they’d gotten right to business.

Because of that and the lack of privacy, he wouldn't get time to talk to Castiel until they got back to the room he’d been given for the night. At least the angel hadn't tensed when Dean had sat next to him. Instead, he’d relaxed somewhat and brushed his fingers over the back of Dean’s hand.

His ink had shifted slightly and he could have sworn a part of him wanted to rumble with contentment at the non-dismissal. They’d definitely have to rehash the things from earlier, but Dean knew if he worked the angle just right, he’d be able to work Cas’s body just the same once the talking was through. He pushed the images that started to flicker through his head at the thought and tried to tamper down his libido. With a roomful of werewolves and pictures of dead bodies spread out in front of him, now was not the time or the place.

“Correct. We’d been training there for awhile. There was no way someone could have entered Hale property with a body dragging behind them without one of us picking up on it immediately,” Derek said.

His veins were still black as he laid one hand on Stiles’ bare skin under the thin t-shirt Stiles had been wearing under his hoodie. The teen was less talkative, but no less alert. His brown eyes were scanning everything and mentally storing things for later. His wrist had been slightly stressed and Dean was pretty sure he had a concussion, but the teen had refused to go home after he had punched Crowley. The Alpha had stayed glued to his side, always touching him in some way and always flickering his eyes between Crowley, Sam, or Dean. For some reason, he was impartial to Castiel. Dean was going to look into that later.   

“So what, it just appeared out of thin air?” The blonde boy that sat ridiculously close to Allison asked.  “I’m pretty sure we would have noticed if it fell from the sky. What about the other bodies?”

“From what we've seen, no one or nothing has actually caught the actual crime happening or the body being put on sight. Cameras don’t catch anything and there’s no particular time for when the bodies appear.” Dean supplied.

Castiel pointed to the picture of Jerry. “This guy was a companion to an angel, basically a hook-up of sorts. Everyone else that disappeared had some sort of late job or had nightly activities with significant others who were rarely seen.”

It was like a light bulb went off. Stiles’ eyes widened and he sat up slightly. “So the murdered are messing around with supernatural partners?”

Lydia had a pensive look on her face from her perch on the polished wood of the study desk. “I’d call it more than ‘messing around’ Stiles.” She slid off of the desk and walked over to the pictures, separating each one carefully so they went in chronological order. She pointed specifically to Jerry’s pictures.

“Look here.” Her pink manicured nail pointed to the devil’s trap scratched into the coffin lid, wide open above Jerry’s desecrated body. “Why would the murderer put the symbol there?”

“Usually devil’s traps are so demon’s can’t escape.” Sam muttered.

“Or can’t get in.” Crowley carefully slunk his way over to the group from where he’d been nursing a glass of scotch from the corner. Immediately, the room sounded like the revving of a large truck. Electric blue eyes and a pair of red ones honed in on the Demon King while fangs bared at him threateningly.

“Put the needles in your mouths away will ya kiddies.” Crowley took a large swallow, finishing the last of the scotch off. “Your Banshee made it clear I had to be useful or she’d rip out my cold little heart. I actually have input you might like.”

The werewolves pinned a look on Dean, before their eyes flickered to Sam and then to Castiel.

The angel nodded and the pack member’s teeth turned back to normal.

 ****_What the hell?_

Crowley tipped the empty glass towards Jerry. “He was fucking a demon-wendigo mixed breed named Bella the Bloody and some angel name Amber.”

“Ambriel.” Castiel corrected. “The angel was named Ambriel, but I was unaware of the demon connection.”

Crowley snorted. “Of course you were unaware. You angels are always clueless. Bella was pretty protective of her toys, but I think she was very fond of this Ambriel character and the human too.” The shrug Crowley gave was almost callous. “She and the angel had history from way back apparently. They shared the human. Frequently. As long as Bella wasn't skimping her duties I tipped my hat to her.”

“So you’re saying someone killed Jerry and put the trap on the lid so Bella couldn't get to him?” Chris Argent pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why bother?”

 **"** Because like I told Stiles, it was more than ‘messing around.’” Lydia pointed to Jerry’s chest, where his heart was missing. “See how the heart’s been torn out? That’s a message. I bet Bella and Ambriel cared more about Jerry than they let on. The murderer knew that.”

“Wait!” Sam exclaimed before pointing to the picture of the body the pack had found in the woods and looking at Chris. “Didn't you tell me there was a band of brass around her throat?”

Devil’s traps to keep out demons and then there was brass on the Beacon Hill’s body, also known as Sahara Leons. Immediately, Dean knew where his brother’s train of thought was going.

“Son of a bitch!” He shouted. “Sahara was with a Rakshasa!”

“The victim in Nevada had to be the mate of a dismemberment goblin.” Castiel inputted. “I haven’t seen that kind of work in centuries. The murderer is making these kills personal and making the mate of each victim see their work. The murderer is mocking them.”

“What an ass.” Stiles grumbled. “So supernatural mates are the targets. We get that. What we need to figure out how the bodies are being dumped. That way we can trace it backwards.”

Crowley’s eye roll at that statement was audible. “You bunch are bit lost huh?”

Dean clenched his fist at the demon. “Crowley, not everyone is used to your brand of asshole. Just spill it.”

Crowley shook his head. “Tsk. Tsk. Always the twitchy Squirrel.” He moved fast, swiping the picture of Sahara and holding it up as if he was in school and this was show and tell. “This girl was shoved through a portal of sorts. Hidden until it was time to be disposed of.”

Something niggled at the back of Dean’s mind at the words. “A portal? What do we know that could make a portal?”

Sam shakes his head and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Nothing supernatural I don’t think. I have to check the copy of the records I made from the Bunker.”

“Will these records help?” Chris asked. “I feel like we’re getting somewhere.”

“We are. Just making these connections narrows things down a bit,” Castiel said. “All of the victims’ relationships were rare pairings if you look at it.”

“He’s right.” Stiles hands were clenched. “A human dating an angel? No big deal. But dating both an angel and a demon? I’m pretty sure that’s uncommon. Take that with a human dating a flesh eater or one dating a killer goblin, it’s crazy.”

At his words, Castiel’s fingers went from brushing the back of Dean’s hand to curling around it. Castiel had said what Dean and he had was _different_. Not really unheard of. By the way the Alpha was holding onto the teen, Dean knew that coupling wasn't normal either.

The older Argent was tense and looking at his daughter with a mild glare. Something told Dean she wasn't doing anything regular either.

He felt something sour started to unfurl in his stomach. Beacon Hills really was like a beacon attached to a lighthouse.

A beacon that he, Sam, Castiel, and Crowley had just followed right to the sharp rocks dotted along the cliff’s edge.

* * *

**Dean's POV (An Hour Later)....**

 

After making plans for everyone to meet in two days to go over any uncovered information, everyone had split. Stiles had been kicked off of the property, with help from Derek. Scott, who Dean had noticed was fairly close with Allison and Isaac by the way all three of them had traded kisses, had also helped the older werewolf strap the teen into a sleek black Camaro that Dean was itching to get under. The teen was barely awake on his feet and was a walking bruise. Dean had found out that the Alpha werewolf had been leeching his pain away the entire time.   

When the Camaro had screeched out of the circular drive, Dean had given Cas a look, hoping the angel could see the meaning in his eyes and wasn't going to slink off. The angel gave him a nod and followed Dean to his room. He was hoping Sam would get the hint and stay in the bedroom next door.

Once he had the door closed and locked behind him, he turned towards Cas to evaluate the situation. His shoulders weren't tense under the trench coat, but his eyes weren't giving anything away.

Winchesters, even honorary ones, were stubborn.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding before he tried to carefully piece his words back together. “Look, Cas. When we were on the phone earlier the conversation got flipped to hell.”

Castiel made a hum of agreement. “I’m well aware Dean. Your meaning was clear. Maybe I should have stayed in Heaven to eliminate the possibilities to endangering the hunt.”

Dean crossed the room to the slightly shorter man and grasped his shoulders. He didn't shake them like he wanted to, but he was close to it. For all that the two of them had been through together, didn't the angel get it?

“Castiel I honestly give fuck all about the hunt when it comes to your life.” He tightened his hands into the fabric of the trench coat.

“Dean, you know that’s not right,” Cas said, his eyes wide at Dean’s announcement, but the slight flush to his skin let Dean know he was secretly pleased. “We can’t put ourselves before hunts.”

Dean leaned forward to rest his forehead against Castiel’s. “The way I see it, we’re already risking our lives with the major hell and heaven situation. I know you’re not weak.” He trailed a finger down Castiel’s cheek, enjoying the fact that he _could_ do this. He couldn't lose this.

“You’re one of the strongest, most selfless people I know. You’re useful wherever you are and we appreciate it. On the phone, I was pissed because since we’ve given so much and we keep giving, if I can have more time with you, I won’t give you up. I can’t. It’s selfish I know, but I’m selfish when it comes to Sammy and you.”

Castiel brought his lips closer to Dean’s, the heat of his breath traveled through Dean.

“We don’t have much time. I’d rather not spend the rest of it in disagreement with you.” The angel whispered, his lips brushing against Dean’s with every word. Dean’s felt electricity run through him and desire made his jeans feel ridiculously tight.

He cupped Castiel’s jaw, enjoying the pinprick of stubble under his fingertips.

“Well then I know what we can be doing instead.” He growled.

Castiel’s breath was still hot on his lips, mingling with his and it wasn't enough. He wanted to taste the air breathing on him, wanted to breathe it in and damn near swallow it all until all that surrounded Castiel was Dean.

He smashed their mouths together, licking the dry, but soft lips under his and kneading the ass he had wanted to lick open yesterday with expert fingers. Castiel eagerly responded, grinding their rapidly swelling cocks together and making both of them groan with the friction from the denim.

“Bed baby.” He croaked before undoing the buttons on the ever-present coat. With the earlier thoughts he had in mind, it didn't take long for Dean to have both of them naked and on the bed in less than two minutes with Castiel draped over him.

The angel’s body was body warm and solid as it slid effortlessly against Dean’s, the pre-come beading from the head of their cocks making the slide a bit easier. Dean gripped his hair in approval and fused their mouths together, swiping his tongue over the angel’s and groaning at the taste.

“Mmm.. you taste so good, let taste the rest of you.” He panted against the kiss swollen mouth. “Would you like that? Let me finish where we started off?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel moaned, his head tilted back and Dean started to lick and suck a bruising path along his collarbone. The pale flesh turned red under his ministrations, and something dark in Dean wondered how Castiel’s blood would taste on his tongue. The blood was right there, pooling just under the flesh and available to him like a damn buffet. If he bit just a little harder, he could taste it. Lap up the copper sweetness and mark Castiel permanently.

A tug on his hair made Dean look up. Castiel’s pupils were blown wide, almost swallowing the blue Dean got lost in so often. Even though the arousal was evident, the concern was there too, coloring his features and slowing down their progress.

 _Well that just won’t do._ He thought to himself and forced the thoughts of Castiel’s blood from his head. Now was not the time.

He pushed Castiel onto his back and rocked back on his haunches to admire the muscles rippling through the angel’s body and imagine all the ways those sculpted thighs would look cinched  around his hips after he opened him up. He grabbed said thighs and spread them, his eyes hungrily taking in Castiel’s flushed cock and how vulnerably open his angel looked.

“Dean, please.” Castiel begged, squirming under the scrutiny but not getting far since Dean still had his thighs grasped in his hands.

Dean smirked before letting them go to instead use one hand to fondle his balls and the other to slowly massage his length.

“O-Oh..” Castiel stuttered in surprise. He thrust his hips towards the onslaught and Dean drank in his hungry actions.

“Slow down Cas, you know I like warming you up first,” Dean said before giving him an extra squeeze.

It was true. Every part of Castiel felt so good in his hands. His cock was like velvet and so smooth in his calloused hand, but so damn hard and aching. He squeezed lightly on the sac in his hand and glided his other hand smoothly to the head of Cas’s cock with the other, twisting his wrist slightly and swiping at the pre-come there with his thumb before sliding back down. The slick sound of his hand sliding made Dean’s mouth water and he wanted to taste that slickness.

If anyone would have told Dean a few years ago that he’d be on the giving end of a blow job and actually enjoying it, he would have pumped them full of rock salt and drowned their dismembered parts in holy water before burying his face and cock in the nearest pussy he could find.

Now, he was leaning down and trailing his tongue from the base to tip on _very_ reasonably sized cock, swiping the bead of pre-come pooled there and moaning at the burst of the salty taste that was his angel.

“Dean please!” Castiel exclaimed again, struggling not to jerk his hips.

“Please what baby?” He asked mockingly. He lapped at another bead of pre-come and gave Castiel another long, teasing lick that made the brunette clench the sheets tighter until his knuckles turned white.

“Dean.” Cas’ voice was getting husky with need and the hunter knew he could have him begging until he was hoarse if he wanted. Have his eyes wet with frustrated tears and his entire body flushed with unleashed arousal, but his own building need was making him impatient.

He let go of Cas with one hand, while keeping the other one lightly cupping his balls. He put his free hand, digits still wet with pre-come to the plump lips.

“Make them wetter for me.” He ordered before swallowing Cas down and purposely gagging around the thick shaft in his mouth.

Castiel body bowed under the onslaught, but he eagerly put Dean’s fingers in his mouth. He moaned around the digits, but didn't dare let them go yet as he mimicked what Dean was doing to his lower regions.

Dean relaxed his throat and sucked harder, not caring about the saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Cas was heavy in his mouth, and Dean knew he was close by the way his cock was twitching between his lips.

He tugged his hand free from Cas’s mouth and gently circled a finger around his puckered rim. Castiel tried to push down impatiently, but Dean used the hand that’d been holding his balls to splay it on his stomach, halting his movement in warning while he continued to bob his head on Castiel’s length. Cas groaned at the torture and Dean tried not to smirk.

Castiel whimpered and Dean relented some by slowly easing a finger in and marveling at how damn tight Cas always was no matter how many times they did this. He pulled his head back some until only the head of Castiel’s cock was in his mouth. He moved his tongue in rough circles, making sure his tongue dragged hard around the head as he hollowed his cheeks to suck harder on Castiel’s cock while his saliva and pre-come soaked finger circled the inside of Castiel’s tight heat.

Castiel moved his hands from the sheets to Dean’s head, clutching frantically at the short strands.

Dean could read his body’s cues well. He crooked the finger that was inside of Castiel just so, nudging the soft spongy tissue inside of him that made Castiel mutter a curse in a language that Dean was sure was native to another continent.

He kept stroking it softly with one finger before adding a second one, using both fingers to work Castiel’s prostate while his mouth worked his cock frantically. The wet sounds of his sucking and Castiel’s moans were the only ones filling the air and Dean’s cock felt like it was going to burst with the breathy sounds filling him. He took his hand off of Castiel’s stomach, giving him the go ahead to move, to use his mouth and press down on his fingers.

Castiel grasped Dean’s head harder and started to move frantically. He moved as if his body couldn't decide on where to go. He alternated between shoving his cock down Dean’s throat and shoving himself further onto Dean’s fingers, trying to get pleasure from both ends and moving as if Dean would stop any minute.

Dean pumped inside of him frantically and hummed, knowing the vibrations would do the angel in.

He was right. With a shout Cas came and the first burst of come that landed on Dean’s tongue tasted better than any pie he could have ever had. He moved his mouth away, but kept his fingers inside of the pink hole clenching around his fingers.

Cas was panting hard and his mouth was open in a silent scream as his cock continued to spurt.

He looked utterly debauched.

His hair was a mess and under his stubble, his cheeks were flushed a deep red that spread down his entire torso. A light sheen of sweat covered his skin and with the come on his stomach and chest, he looked like every single one of Dean’s wet dreams.

And he couldn't resist.

He leaned forward and crashed their lips together, letting Castiel taste himself in Dean’s mouth while Dean tried to map out every crevice behind his angel’s teeth. Castiel grasped Dean’s head again and started to move against the fingers still inside of him.

“Dean, if you do not get inside of me now.” Castiel warned, not even needing to finish the rest of the threat he panted against Dean’s mouth.

“Already on it baby,” he said silkily as he pulled away slightly.

He took his fingers out of Castiel and kissed him in apology at the glare he got in return. He swiped his fingers through the come and carefully put the two back in, scissoring the tight opening and sliding his tongue back into Castiel’s mouth as a suitable distraction. When Castiel started to push back against his fingers again he carefully added a third, making sure to hit the soft spot that had the angel making wanton noises in his mouth. He eagerly swallowed each one, knowing they’d be louder pretty soon.

When he felt Castiel start to harden again against his hip, he pulled away and spit on his cock. Saliva and come weren't his first lube choices, but they’d made due with it before plenty of times in the backseat of the Impala and it was better than nothing at all.

With four thrusts he was in and damn near shaking with restraint not to just shove harder and bottom out. He situated Castiel’s legs around his hips and the angel locked on immediately. Dean lurched forward and hooked both of his forearms under Castiel’s armpits, putting the angel’s neck right to Dean’s mouth. Cas was gripping him so tight everywhere. With his ass, with his arms, with his grace. Dean couldn't sit still.

“Cas, I got to move.” He ground out between clenched teeth. Cas was breathing hard and slowly rolling his hips, getting used to the stretch and burn. When he started to grind closer, testing his comfort, Dean nearly lost it.

“You can move.” The angel acquiesced. “ _Please_ move.”

He didn't have to be told twice. He stroked his angel with hard, slow strokes. Each thrust made Castiel’s body lurch forward and Dean made sure to push his shoulders down to meet his cock every single time. He wanted to fill and feel every single part of this deep heat inside of Castiel. Never slide out of it. Never stop thrusting back into it.

No matter how many times they’d done this Dean couldn't get enough, _never_ get enough.

“You feel so good baby.” He whispered and Castiel shivered at his words. “Feel so damn tight, and you’re so wet for me.”

He reached down and grasped Castiel’s weeping cock, stroking it and squeezing it in time with each of his hard thrusts.

The room was thick with the smell of them. Their sweat and Castiel’s come filled Dean’s senses and made him heady with the pleasure of it all. He felt his balls twitch and started to thrust harder, but not faster. He wanted to grind down into Castiel, make him feel Dean even when Dean wasn’t around. Castiel reached for him and Dean let his hands scratch down his back.

Their hips rolled in tandem and Castiel was speaking softly in his ear. He was so quiet, Dean couldn't make out what he was saying, but he kept stroking. Kept sliding his cock in and out of the tight ass beneath him and sliding his hand on the velvet steel between them.

“Dean..I-I’m close.” Castiel panted, hitching his legs higher and shoving his hips forward to meet Dean’s. The hunter took the hint and started to pick up the pace, loving how Castiel started to flutter around him with his impending orgasm. The sound of their skin slapping together got louder and Castiel’s whispering from earlier resumed, but it was louder.

Some of it was in English, some of it wasn't, but as Dean kissed Castiel roughly and they both groaned through their orgasm. He understood the meaning of it.

* * *

 

**Stiles POV (Present, after leaving the Argent's)...**

The headboard was crashing against the wall at an alarming rate and Stiles was damn sure not going to chip in for repairs.

“Y-you should be resting. You w-w-ere shot!” Stiles gasped as Derek hammered him into the bed furiously.

As soon as they’d gotten to Derek’s house the gauntlet had been thrown. Stiles had barely had time to get off of the phone from reassuring his dad before Derek had been on him, throwing Stiles on the thousands of pillows decorating the king sized bed and yanking his clothes off so fast Stiles had started to think that maybe his boyfriend was the Harry Potter reject and not him.

Before he could even think about uttering a protest, the Alpha had pried his bare thighs apart, draining at any pain that he might have missed in the two hours he’d been sucking away at it at the Argent’s house while he proceeded to _rim Stiles open_ _within an inch of his life!_

Stiles didn't even need to guess where the sudden onslaught of pleasure had come from.

* * *

 

**Earlier (Right After Derek Was shot)...**

“Take him to the kitchen! We have a kit under the kitchen sink!” Allison commanded as Scott and the newly arrived Boyd half-dragged, half-carried a rapidly paling Derek.

Or Stiles _thought_ it was Scott and Boyd.

He was feeling too fucking woozy to tell.

At this point, if it wasn't for Isaac and Lydia each wrapping an arm around his waist, he was pretty sure he’d be face first on the Argent's shiny white kitchen tile taking the world’s best nap.

He heard Derek yelling as Isaac and Lydia sat him down gingerly at the kitchen table. His voice sounded muffled and far away, but the gravely rumble of his voice was unmistakable.

_The red oozing out of his cuts._

_Blood spattering on artifacts._  

_The explosion that rocked the house...no..not an explosion a gunshot!_

 

 _Derek’s roar seeping into his bones_ _and taking the breath out of him._

 _He couldn't get any air. He couldn't fucking breath. He had to get to Derek. He had just been fucking shot!_    _He had to get to him...had to move..had to get up and.._

The worse sense of vertigo snatched at him as the kitchen tiles rushed to greet his battered face.

“Son of a bitch,” he said. “Going down.”

“Whoa!” Slim hands grabbed him and he was back in the chair.

“Stiles..things...be fine...Hale..down..stop!” Allison’s orders faded in and out and she seemed to double.

She shooed Lydia away and carefully cupped his face. Stiles noticed how her soft hands felt worn in certain places. Probably from all of the times she played Katniss Everdeen.

“Your hands are freakish, but soft Katniss.” He slurred. Man Scott sure did date the tough ones.

“‘Okay.Isaac. Whammy.” she said softly. Something warm settled on the back of his neck and the number of Allisons slowly went from two to one.  

“Have I told you how much I love that trick?” He asked as the pain ebbed away. The grogginess gingerly receded and he could actually think now and take in what the hell was going on around him.

To say Derek was upset would be an understatement.

“I’m going to fucking kill him!”

The Alpha was downright _fucking pissed_.

He roared and kicked the closest thing to him, which happened to be the wooden bar stool next to him. The bar stool splintered into pieces against the fridge with a clang, and Stiles winced as the sound reverberated through his head.

Scott and Boyd immediately dove at their Alpha and wrapped their arms around his torso, keeping him on his stool. The way he fought against them promised them he’d slash at them too if his arms got free.

Boyd and Scott were unknowingly blocking his view of Stiles, but the teen could see the hint of his poisoned arm as it tried to hit his best friend.

It wasn't looking to hot and if his stubborn boyfriend didn't sit down, he'd only get worse and the  _last_ thing they needed was Derek down and out at a time like this.

“Derek STOP!” He shouted and _fuck_ did yelling take the breath out of him. He felt like he’d actually played a full game of lacrosse. The werewolf actually froze, though Stiles wasn't sure if it was in shock or to monitor his labored breathing.

“Are you okay?” He asked gruffly around his fangs. Stiles saw his eyes were crimson and bright once his two Beta restraints relaxed slightly.

“I’m trying to feel like I just didn't get fucking hit by a two hundred pound train in a fancy ass tailored suit from what I shall forever call ‘The-Almost-Butchering-Incident,” Stiles said. He looked over and saw Lydia emerge from where she had apparently been rummaging under the kitchen sink.

“To put it simply, he’s alive and watching you throw a tantrum that’s worse than a teen on _MTV’s My Sweet_ _Sixteen.”_ She threw a large and small bottle at Allison, which the huntress plucked out of the air deftly.

Finstock should have just recruited her to replace half the team.

“Derek, I’m okay. Scott, Boyd move more so he can see.”

“Stiles, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Scott uttered nervously.

“He’s right. You don’t look so good.” Isaac grimaced.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Lydia shoved past Scott and Boyd and grabbed Derek by his uninjured arm. “He’s going to see his face regardless. Help me move him so we can get things done.”

Scott and Boyd traded looks, before the dark-skinned boy gave a shrug.

Typical Boyd way of saying,”fuck it.”

They sat Derek next to him at the kitchen table and the older man warily watched Lydia pick through the satchel back she’d brought to the table from under the sink for a second before he actually turned to look at Stiles fully.

His red eyes widened at the site and Stiles could physically see Derek’s struggle not to tear out of the kitchen and rip the hunters apart. His body was vibrating so badly that Scott and Boyd took a cautious step forward.

Stiles plastered on a smile.

“Der, I’m fine.”

His assurance was weak and everyone in the kitchen knew it. Stiles licked his lip and winced at the taste of his blood.

“Stiles, if I hadn’t-” Derek started to say but Allison cut him off.

“But you _did_. _We_ did.” The brunette’s tone was curt as she dumped two horse sized white pills into Stiles’ hand and twisted off the cap of a sports drink. “Herculean aspirin. Take these and you’ll feel better in thirty.”

Behind them, Scott and Boyd backed away and began to clean up the broken pieces of furniture. Derek had the decency to look somewhat quelled at the sound of the trash bag crinkling.

Allison’s crossbow was sitting right next to her elbow at the kitchen table and damn if he actually had the strength to stop her if she decided to shoot Derek in his other shoulder for his tantrum in her kitchen.

If the eyebrow she raised at Stiles was any indication, she definitely would if Scott got even a splinter from the broken wood.

Stiles popped the two pills and guzzled the drink to appease her and his body. 

Never say he couldn't multitask.

“I leave you guys alone for a _few hours!_  A few hours and Derek ends up getting shot while Stiles gets a minor concussion and a broken wrist,” Lydia said as she carefully started to tweeze the bullet out of Derek’s arm.

Allison carefully prodded and rotated his wrist, making mental notes of his reactions.

“It’s not really swollen, and it’s moving kind of smoothly. I’d say it was just stressed or strained. I’ll wrap it and he should be fine if you factor in the aspirin and werewolf morphine.” She grabbed the supplies from the satchel and began to work

“Well, guess I’ll be updating my dad tomorrow instead.” He grumbled while Allison and Lydia played nurse to his and Derek’s injuries.

“Good idea.” Lydia’s voice didn't waver, but her lips were pursed and her cheeks were splotched red. Her only indicators that she was beyond livid.

Stiles was thankful that he wasn't the one that was on the receiving end of that anger.

The banshee got ready to burn Derek’s wound and Stiles reflexively reached over and ran his fingers over Derek’s face to distract him.

Derek was completely de-wolfed with the exception of his eyes now. His stubble was rough under his hands and the perverted side of Stiles thought about the beard burn he could get if Derek rubbed it in certain places.

 _Focus Stilinski._ He reprimanded himself as Derek grit his teeth against the harsh burn and Stiles felt a flash of nausea.

It wasn't the smell of burnt flesh that made a the bile burn his throat. It was the fact that it was _Derek's_  flesh burning that bothered him the most. The good thing about it was that color was already returning to his face and his cuts were sealing themselves bit by bit.

He was taken out of his thoughts by something _strange_ stirring in him. Deaton had proclaimed him a spark and Stiles didn’t doubt it. Whenever something strange came around that was drenched in magic, Stiles _felt_ it.

With that guy from earlier he hadn't been able to feel much. That guy was slick. Oily and greasy in a way that slid off of Stiles and didn't stick.

But whatever was near was the complete opposite.

It was nudging him, coaxing out to his flickering light and encouraging it to stay steady. It was full and warm and it made a part of Stiles lean towards the kitchen door. He knew Derek could feel his reaction. The older man reached for him.

“Stiles what are-”

“How’s everything going?” Chris Argent walked into the room with an attractive man cautiously walking behind him. His eyes immediately went over to the missing chair before taking in the dent on his refrigerator.

“Hale..what in the-”

“I’ll replace everything.” Derek cut him off, his eyes on the stranger.

Stiles could see why.

The man had messy brown locks that looked like he had just gotten out of bed. His blue eyes were big and sleepy looking and his muscled and trim body was encased in a nice dress shirt and khakis under his partly buttoned trench coat.

He definitely was good looking, but it wasn't just that.

The man wasn't just the _cause_ of what Stiles had felt. He _was_  all Stiles had felt.

He knew the wolves couldn't see it, but there was a slight glow around him that was entrancing. Not hypnotizing, but welcoming all the same. It made him relax slightly.

 _He’s good_. Something whispered to him.  _He's apart of someone Righteous._

Stiles noticed _all_ of the wolves’ eyes in the room were trained on the man.

“You smell different,” Scott said, inching towards his girlfriend and boyfriend.

Even in the face of strangers and danger Scott was still love struck. Past Stiles would have been offended, but he could understand it now.

“What are you?” Derek asked bluntly, curling a hand protectively around Stiles’ thigh.

Boyd’s eyes flashed and his fists curled while Allison’s fingers inched towards her crossbow.

“Slow down guys. This is Castiel. Believe it or not he’s an angel.” Mr. Argent explained.

Well that would explain why the sparks inside of Stiles were singing happily at the man.

“Real funny,” Isaac said. He carefully removed his hand from Stiles’ neck. The ache was slight and no one’s clones popped up so Stiles counted that as a victory. “An honest to God angel? Like a halo and all of that.”

“I’d offer to show you my halo, but only other angels and my significant other can actually see it without burning.” His voice didn't have much of an inflection, as if he only spoke factually and had a sense of humor that was about on par with Derek.

“Significant other?” Lydia’s arms were crossed and her perfectly waxed eyebrow was raised.

“Dean Winchester. From what I hear from Mr. Argent there was a large mis-configuration on his part and he wounded someone of your party instead of Crowley.”

Boyd snorted. “Crowley?”

“I’m assuming it’s the name of the guy that tried to have a-la Stiles for dinner.” Stiles supplied. “No offense, but angel or not, you guys really have to work on your team building and that’s something if I’m saying it.”

Castiel’s face gave nothing away. “I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

“Fuck your assurances!” Derek’s fist crashed onto the table top. Surprisingly, it didn't split. “Stiles was almost-

“Derek.”

Everything got silent and Stiles realized that is was _his_ voice was that spoken out.

Well. Shit.

“Um...he’s okay.”

Out of all of the times for him to not have _enough_ words, why was it _now_?

The looks thrown his way were saying the same thing he was thinking.

“Look.” He breathed deeply to steel himself. “I know we just met the guy, but please trust me. He’s okay.”

Derek’s jaw was clenched so tightly Stiles could hear the sound of his teeth grinding.

Stiles knew he was thinking. 

Thinking about the hours he held him up.

Thinking about the time Stiles risked his life to break a mountain ash circle to free the pack against a scorned witch.

Derek was thinking really fucking hard because the flash in his eyes and the furious eyebrows were saying he did _not_ want to trust his pack and his mate to a complete stranger.

But he had to trust Stiles.

“Fine.”

**Stiles' POV (Ten Minutes Later)....**

Meeting Dean Winchester had been something completely different.

And it wasn't because he was hot as hell either.

He was ripped with tan skin and a light spattering of freckles that Stiles could tell was all natural.

He didn't seem like the spray tan type.

His eyes were a green that had a glint of something smoldering that said women threw soaked panties at him at every turn.

That was until Stiles realized he could  _feel_ him too.

He had some of the same angel juice pull that Castiel seemed to have, but there was something _else_ buzzing under the surface.

Whereas that Crowley weirdo had been grimy and slick, Dean had been _heat_ underneath the cool flow of _righteous_ that covered him.

It was like lava flowing under a cool volcanic surface, and Stiles had no way to tell if it was inactive or not.

And because a large part of Stiles was a masochistic and protective of his loved ones, he made a silent vow to himself to find out.

He'd be damned if something happened to his pack because he let something slip.

With that resolve firmly in place, by the time they had left the Argent's, Stiles actually felt equal parts relieved and equal parts resigned because he just _knew_.

Relieved because they were getting somewhere, and resigned because they probably wouldn't get much until the killer struck again.

And knowing his fucking luck the killer would try to strike close to home.

Derek must have been feeling the same way because on the way to the Hale property he had kept Stiles’ hand entwined in his. Both for re-affirmation and to leech away at him. Stiles was feeling fine now, but didn't protest.

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “The aspirin and the werewolf morphine helped. A lot better actually.”

“Hmm. Good.”

* * *

**Stiles' POV (Present)**

And literally forty-two minutes and two orgasm later, Stiles found his thighs hitched high against Derek’s ribs as the older man’s huge dick pumped in and out of him at an almost superhuman speed.

“They don’t get to have you.” Derek growled. “You’re mine!” His abs rippled and flexed with each roll of his hips and Stiles could barely appreciate the view because Derek was hitting that spot over and over and it felt so fucking good and-

“Der...oh..” His blunt nails scrabbled for purchase against the sweaty back. His supposed to be spent dick started to twitch as it bobbed in between their sticky bodies.

Stiles didn't know whether to label it a traitor or a team player.

“That’s it Stiles.” Derek mumbled against his neck. “I want you to come for me again.”

Stiles had been right about the stubble. It burned deliciously on his neck and the underside of his jaw as Derek marked the hell out of his flesh. No matter how good it felt, Stiles didn't even know if he _could_ come again. Horny teenage or not, Stiles had already come twice while Derek had yet to come once.

Fucking. Werewolves.

Literally.

“I...oh man...I can’t..God..Der..I-I..can’t!” Stiles used one hand to tug hard on Derek’s hair and moaned at the sharp jab Derek gave him in return.

A hot tongue trailed along the shell of his ear before Derek gave it a sharp bite. “You. Can. And. You. Will.” He punctuated each word with a thrust and Stiles was overwhelmed in the best way.

Derek was over him, in him, surrounding him, and owning him with a desperation Stiles had rarely seen.

Or returned as he did now.

For every bruise Derek had put on Stiles’ neck and hips, Stiles had put scratches on the Alpha’s back and hickeys on his collarbone.

“They can’t have you. He can’t have you. I won’t let them,” Derek said.

His breath was quickening and Stiles knew he was close. He pulled his wolf closer so they were chest to chest, biting his lip as his dick snugly fit into the v intersection of Derek’s groin and hip.

“Come for me Stiles. Come on..” Derek lifted up some and reached between them. Stiles couldn't even find it in himself to be embarrassed for coming as soon as the large hand wrapped around him. His third release seemed to be the magic number for Derek.

The werewolf pulled out quickly and jerked his dick frantically over Stiles’ heaving body.

Through the haze of his aftershocks Stiles drank in Derek’s white teeth as they bit into his pink lips, the column of his throat and the adams apple bobbing there.

His ripped stomach heaved with his oncoming orgasm and a bit off groan of his name was all the warning Stiles got before splashes of warmth hit his stomach and chest.

It was slighter warmer and thicker than a human's and Stiles knew it was going to be hell on his skin later if he kept it on him.

He wrinkled his nose when Derek started to rub it into his skin with a smirk.

It was like the werewolf could read his mind and was purposely being difficult.

Even if he looked so sexy and just-fucked that Stiles couldn't even legitimately get angry at the extreme scenting.

“Ew. Derek, I did not need a new lotion.”

“I know.” Derek licked one of his hickeys and kissed it before sliding out of the bed and padding into the bathroom. He came back with a wet washcloth and carefully cleaned them both off before throwing it in the direction of the hamper.

“What was the point of you rubbing it in if you wiped us both off?” Stiles asked as Derek wrapped his arms around him.

“I can still smell you.” His tone was appreciative and smug and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Let me guess. I smell like you?”

“No.” Derek leaned down and gently coaxed their mouths together. He twined their tongues for a few seconds before pulling away and giving Stiles a smaller peck. “You smell like us. So do I.”

Stiles smiled at that as the sleep he tried to fight at the Argent's crept back on him. “Good. As long as you keep telling me I’m ‘yours’ you don’t forget one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you’re mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! Thanks for taking the time out to read! I really appreciate the comment, kudos, subscribers etc. I've been getting for this story. You guys are truly the best, and I thank you all for being patient! Any questions? You can comment or just shoot me an e-mail (info on my profile) or just drop in to say hello:) I don't bite ;) I hope you all enjoyed
> 
> REMINDER- Dean's portion of the story happens on the SAME day at Stiles' portion of the story. When Dean is talking to Sam in the bedroom, it's around the time Stiles and crew are in the kitchen.
> 
> SPECIAL NOTE: For those of you who liked my story "What's In A Name?" There will be a new addition to the series soon involving our little werewolf princess causing some havoc :)
> 
> Also, I ventured out on a limb and got a tumblr (link on my profile and below). Feel free to follow, and I'll of course follow back!
> 
> (http://fartherthantherabbithole.tumblr.com


	6. Blooming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let me into your encryption_  
>  \- The Dream, No Church In The Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Yes, I'm alive and slowly in the process of updating my fics and throwing in Sterek one-shots here and there. I'm sorry for the extremely long wait and thank you to anyone who's still reading this. You guys are all amazing!
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Cursing, violence BETWEEN CHARACTERS (SCROLL TO END NOTES FOR THIS IT'S IMPORTANT), discussions of body mutilation (END NOTES).
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own :(
> 
> Any mistakes found are my own. I tried to check over this as many times as possible, and my beta did as well, but sometimes mistakes still slip through the cracks

**Dean’s POV (Saturday, 6:15 PM)**

_How do they survive?_ Dean thought as he took in the contents of the Argents’ new fridge.

During one of their research meetings, according to Scott McCall, Derek had to supply the Argents with a new fridge or Dean would have supposedly had to find a new face. Dean had held in his snort at the teen’s confidence that Hale would have been able to take him out so easily. Dean was pretty sure the constantly angry looking Alpha wouldn’t have been an easy kill, but Dean was also pretty sure he wouldn’t have been a kill for the man.

Period.

Dean didn’t do his stints below, survive the near apocalypse, and basically marry an angel of the Lord just to be killed by a werewolf. A pie shortage would kill him first.

Pie that was not in the fridge.

The large chrome rectangle was instead packed with a riot of colors. Greens. Oranges. Reds. Yellows. All of it a rainbow of healthy shit that Sam would probably go crazy over once he finished going over the copy of the records. Anything related to portals had been dragged out of the archives, and they’d been combing over it for the past five days. After days of looking and only a small trail, Dean had decided to go on a break before he set fire to the whole damn stack of records out of sheer frustration. Well, Sam had decided he needed a break after Dean’s irritation started to permeate the air.

“Go get some food Dean. You’re more of an ass when you’re hungry.” Sam had instructed, as he bit into a glossy, blood red apple and flipped through papers with a practiced eye. Dean couldn’t exactly argue with his logic. After all, Cas had extracted himself from the room fifteen minutes earlier with a quick kiss and an off-hand excuse of talking to Argent, already sensing Dean’s irritation.

“Yeah, yeah whatever Bitch.” He’d grumbled as he’d walked towards the kitchen, counting on finding something to fill him up.

The thing he hadn’t counted on was the Argents’ food supply.

Chris Argent was a solidly built guy. Dean had automatically assumed he’d have some sort of good food around. Hell, the man’s daughter was banging two werewolves. By what he saw of the pack, they had to be packing away some serious calories. One couldn’t tell by the abundance of kale, tomatoes, peppers, and squash that loaded the fridge.

“If you’re looking for the good stuff, I had it moved after Hale dented my last fridge,” Chris Argent said from behind him. Dean jumped, and spun around. A flare of heat crawled up his arm as the mark started to burn. He grit his teeth. On the skin of his back, feathers shook and anger rolled up every vertebrae of his spine.

_How dare he?_

“Everything alright?” Cas’s voice and a chilling slide of grace against his nape cut through the heat of his thoughts, and Dean belatedly noticed that his lover was standing not too far from the other hunter while his sleepy blue eyes took in the scene with apprehension.

How did I miss him again?

“As a fellow hunter, you should know not to get the jump on something you don’t plan on killing,” Dean said as he rotated his arm, trying to alleviate the slight throb. He leaned against the new fridge, letting the cool of the metal seep through his shirt and raised his brow.

“As a fellow hunter, you should know not to let your guard down.” Chris shot back before pulling a set of keys from his pocket. “Go get some of your weapons and your brother. We’re heading to Hale’s to do some training and catch up with the pack. I’ll meet you guys in the garage in twenty.” He left at Dean’s nod, and once it was obvious the man wasn’t coming back, Castiel walked over to Dean crossed his arms firmly over his chest.

His deep blue eyes were squinted in determination, and his mouth was set in a firm line that told Dean he wouldn’t be able to kiss away the subject, no matter how good the angel’s lips looked.

“Dean, I feel as if there’s something you aren’t telling me.” It wasn’t a question.

He felt his ink shift, and a frosty calm spiraled down his spine, so unlike the rage, anger, and frustration that had been tearing through him lately. It was like Castiel was acting against the liquid heat that’d been searing through his veins, whether he knew it or not.

“And I feel as if you already know what I’m not telling you.” He reached out for the angel, but instead Cas grabbed the arm with the Mark of Cain, flipping it over with fingers that were slightly worn, and began tracing a pattern that was part cursory and part tantalizing over the Mark.

Dean shuddered.

The skin of the Mark was red and puckered. Shiny and raw. Just like it’d been when he’d first gotten it instead of the healed over-scar effect it’d had before the string of murders had started.

“It didn’t look like this before. Not even last night.” Castiel’s voice was soft as he turned Dean’s arm left and right under the light of the kitchen. “How long has it been like this?”

Dean closed his eyes and let out a sigh as he honestly thought about Castiel’s question. He hadn’t changed his mind from his earlier resolve.

This hunt. The knife. Abaddon. Metratron. He could worry about himself later.

“Not too long, but it can wait.” He tried to tug his arm from Castiel’s grip. The angel’s fingers tightened slightly, holding his arm still and reminding Dean that Castiel wasn’t _just_ Cas. He _could_ hold Dean there if he wanted to. His fingers could hold a little tighter, maybe make some bruises there. Dark purple ones that would mark Dean up while his capillaries burst under his skin. Maybe Dean could return the favor. Something hot inside of him boiled at the thought of the shades of purple on Castiel’s pale skin. Cas usually liked when Dean marked him up with his mouth. Maybe he’d let Dean use his hands too. Wrap his fingers around-

A strangled gasp cut his attention back to Cas, and Dean felt his heart stutter to a stop as horror seized him.

The hand attached to his marked arm was wrapped around the pale flesh of Castiel’s throat. Any other time their skin was pressed close, Dean would often marvel at how beautiful the contrast between their skin looked. His flushed tan against the slick of Cas’ pale skin as he made the angel cry out was something that he never got tired of.

But with the angel’s feet dangling a few centimeters off of the ground, Castiel was gasping for air in a way that wasn’t a result of Dean bringing them both to another orgasm.

He was gasping in panic, but his eyes contained no fear or confusion.

Just certainty.

Certainty that Dean wasn’t going to kill him, no matter how the situation looked.

Certainty that Dean _couldn’t_ feel for himself because of the fact that his hand wasn’t letting go, no matter how something inside of him raged at what he was doing.

Castiel wrapped both of his hands around Dean’s arm and looked firmly at Dean.

“Dean, it’s me. Castiel.” He choked out. Dean could feel his throat working in overtime, his adam’s apple bobbing against his hunter's palm while he waited for Dean to respond.

“I know who it is.” Dean replied, but no.. _Dean_ didn’t reply. It was his voice, but it wasn’t.

“I’m sure you do, and I’m also sure you don’t want to do this.”

“Are you sure about that? You know I like marking you up.” He smirked, and it felt ugly.

“As I do you. See?” Castiel started to glow faintly, and the tension in the room seeped into something more. Something bright. Something other.

Instead of the cold slide of grace he’d felt earlier, Dean was being covered in it. Washed in it. Drowned, until the boiling inside of him was just a low-heat. Something humming, but not singing loudly through his blood.

His hand let go and Castiel dropped to the ground. He was still glowing faintly, but the kitchen looked normal again.

Dean dropped to the shiny tiles of the kitchen as well, not caring about the cold bite of the linoleum seeping in through the butt of his jeans. At this point, he’d take any cold he could get. Anything to fight off the heat of anger, the rage that wanted to boil over and destroy everything, and the insane fire-consuming possessiveness of the angel in front of him. He stayed a foot away from Castiel, not trusting himself to get closer to him, but needing to know if he was alright.

“Are you alright Cas?” He took in the bruises forming along the angel's throat. Just what he thought, they looked beautiful blooming against the deliciously pale flesh. A small piece of contentment started to unfurl in his stomach, and he gave the angel a small grin before dropping it.

Why was he so damn happy about this?

“I’m alive, so yes.” Castiel’s usually deep voice was hoarse around his words. He massaged his throat before looking at Dean square in the eyes. “I’m starting to assume that this is something that can not wait Dean.”

Dean knew he was putting it as politely as the angel was capable.

What Castiel meant was. “We’re going to fix this shit _soon_.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with me?” He fisted his hands against the denim of his thighs.

Cas cleared his throat, and Dean felt his blunt nails biting into his palms. “If it’s what I suspected, we’re going to need some help, and I might know who to ask. However, it might be a problem.”

Dean swallowed. “Who do you suggest?”

Castiel stood up gingerly and rubbed his hands together. Dean noted that they looked like they had first-degree burns on them.

“We’re going to need both Stiles and Crowley.”

 _Might_ be a problem was a serious understatement.

* * *

 

**Stiles POV (Saturday, 6:45 PM)**

“So I haven’t been able to find anything new on portals,” Lydia said to Stiles as she tapped a blush colored nail against the smooth gloss of the kitchen island.

It was Saturday, five days since the Monday Winchesters had arrived with their cannibal King of Hell. Since then, days had been filled with even more demanding pack training, Stiles working longer with Deaton on his spark abilities, Lydia and Stiles meeting with the Winchesters group for research under the watchful eye of at least two pack members, and the hell that was high school. As much as Crowley still made Stiles’ skin crawl, and Derek wanted to run Dean over with his Camaro, they knew not working together wouldn’t help things move any faster.

Besides, Stiles still needed to figure out what made Dean run so hot, and he couldn’t do that with his pack trailing after him like ducks every few seconds because they thought something was going to happen.

It was like they forgot _Stiles_ was the one who was learning how to carve runes that saved everyone’s asses.

They forgot _he_ was the one who was training to throw fireballs (not like he’d tell Derek that one any time soon) as an offensive tactic.

The more times they met with the Winchesters incident free, Derek would eventually ease up on the protection details because the murders and the lack of new evidence was putting a strain on everyone. Even though Stiles knew he was a prime specimen of man-meat, Derek couldn’t hoard over him almost getting eaten forever. Everyone was stretched thin, even the town. It was noticeable when Stiles and Derek had filled his dad in when Derek had dropped Stiles off home Tuesday, the day after “The Almost Butchering Incident.”

Driving through the streets early that morning saw parents holding their kids closer at bus stops, the streets not as packed with daily strollers, but filled with more bike riders and cars at traffic lights. Hell, even some places had delayed opening hours. It was like Beacon Hills could feel something coming, something that fell under the category of _“oh shit, not again”_ and they knew they had to prepare.

But the pack was having a hard time preparing when they didn’t know _what_ was going to attack next, or even _when_ the next attack was coming.

Stiles could feel Lydia’s irritation at her own admission, even though his back was turned to her while he washed two mangos at the large industrial-like sink Derek had installed in the kitchen. When his boyfriend had renovated the mansion, he’d had the pack on his mind for sure. The first thing you noticed about the mansion when you walked in was just how spacious every room was. With how often everyone tussled or argued, Stiles could admit that it was a wise choice. Hell, even the kitchen was cavernous and looked like something a master chef would probably get off on if he saw.

Said master chef would weep if he knew that the owner of said kitchen had cooking skills that didn’t go farther than microwaving Hungry Man frozen dinners.

As it was, Boyd and Ethan were the master chefs of the pack, while Allison was the nutrition freak. Stiles was pretty sure they’d all be surviving on fruits snacks and Hostess products if those three didn’t work diligently to make sure they all weren’t eating solid diabetes regularly.

Speaking of survival.

“Have you cross referenced everything that the Winchesters have found on portals?” Stiles asked while he rooted through the cabinets to find a cutting board. This place was stocked like a Wal-Mart, but he vaguely remembered Aiden shoving one under the sink somewhere-

“Yes, which is why I said I wasn’t able to find anything new. All we have is a vague reference to some hunters in Illinois for some reason.” Lydia’s voice interrupted his derailed thoughts, and bought him back to focus.

“Hunters in Illinois? I wasn’t aware hunters could create portals.” Stiles pulled the cutting board out and began slicing the mangoes with the same precision Deaton had hounded  him to slice spell and potion ingredients. Stiles doubted he and Lydia would die if he cut a disproportionate slice of mango like they would if it was a disproportionate slice of a spelled mandrake root.  

“According to the Winchesters and the Argents, they can’t,” Lydia confirmed. “Which is why this reference sticks out so much. It’s just this one reference, not a lot of half-cocked false starts.”

Stiles thought carefully about the implications of her words as he plated the slices and sat down next to the redhead. Usually looking for shit was like a Google Search. There were always thousands of hits and they had to know which ones were porn-links and extremist sites and which ones might actually be real. The fact that there was only one lead made things pretty clear cut.  

“Which means this could be a major lead that’ll end with _us_ fucking shit up, or a trap laid out a long time ago for anyone that would go looking for something like this that’ll end with us getting _our_ shit fucked up.” He popped a mango slice in his mouth and groaned at the burst of flavor on his tongue.

Rule #32  :Enjoy The Little Things.

“Well those sound fun.” Aiden strolled into the kitchen, body glistening with sweat and his hair plastered to his face. On his temple, a gash was knitting together and blood trickled down his jaw, but he didn’t seem to mind as he looked at the plate of mango slices.

Fucking. Werewolves.

“Nope. Nope. Nope. Lydia, leash him,” Stiles said and pulled the plate of his labor closer to his body. “I only feed one werewolf.” And that one werewolf ate enough for the both of them. Stiles felt bad for Melissa sometimes when he realized she had to feed Scott and sometimes Isaac too.

“Bro, that’s harsh.” Scott walked into the kitchen with the rest of the pack trailing behind him, sans Ethan and Derek, a clue those two must have been preparing the backyard for when their new playmatesarrived.

They’d already been training for three hours with a few breaks in between. Each of them looked no better than Aiden had when he first walked in. Fresh blood and sweat coated their bodies and Stiles cringed at the look of irritation that flashed across Boyd’s face when everyone claimed a stool, seat, or surface. Hunger must have won out over his irritation because his eyes zoomed in on the mangoes as well, and Stiles seriously wondered if he was going to have to make a break for it.

An ill-advised break because they’d catch him, but shit it was worth a try.

Before he could say anything else, Stiles felt himself start to warm up, and a feeling of _yes_ slid through his bones and made him shiver. Fire and ice licked at his insides and he felt himself leaning towards the direction that would eventually lead towards the front door. It meant that Castiel and Dean were near. Everyone seemed to sense it too because they all stilled and Stiles tracked the slight twitch of ears before each head cocked to the side.

Seeing them do this usually freaked Melissa out, but Stiles always thought of it as curious puppies listening in. The only thing freaky about it was the instant silence and the synchronized movement, but Stiles chalked that up to a wolf-pack thing.

“Sounds like Chris and the Winchester crew are here.” Derek strolled into the kitchen and wrapped an arm around Stiles’ waist. He was just as dirty as the rest of them, and smelled like them too, but it seemed like the heat of his body and the feel of his solid flesh behind Stiles’ body called more to him than the need for his boyfriend’s hygiene. It was also a solid reminder that tonight wasn’t going to be his night with Derek.

Just his fucking luck.

“I’ll go let them in.” Allison volunteered, shucking the sweater she’d been wearing that had someone’s blood on to reveal a cleaner shirt underneath before heading towards the front door at a run.

“Sure, go ahead. It’s not like I own this house or anything.” Derek grumbled into Stiles’ neck before pulling away, spearing a mango slice onto a claw tipped finger, and popping it into his mouth with a smile. There was mango juice on his fangs.

“For fucks sake!” Stiles protested when his boyfriend plucked two more slices, but stopped once Scott burst into laughter.

“You did say you feed one werewolf. Let him eat bro.”

His best friend was a traitor, and Stiles was going to make sure to give the packet of fruit roll-ups in his backpack to Danny instead whenever the tech-genius got here.

Well, he wouldn’t actually do it because Scott would give him the puppy eyes that’d make him feel like a terrible human being.

But at least he contemplated it for a moment.

“Welcome to my life kid,” Chris Argent said behind Allison as she lead him, Dean, Sam, and Castiel into the kitchen. Everyone greeted them with muted hellos, but Stiles only gave them a small wave as he took them in.

Something wasn’t right.

The glow that Stiles could usually see around Castiel was slightly dimmer than before, but it was still steady and calling out to him. However, there was an element of something different inside of him this time.

Something added that wasn’t there before.

The first time they’d met Stiles felt full and warm and welcomed into Castiel’s presence. Underneath the glow of Castiel’s skin now, was a furious heat bubbling. It wasn’t the soothing warmth of before. It was hot. Too hot and it looked like it had burned away some of the glow that had been brighter when Stiles had first met the angel.

Dean felt different too. He still had that small part of Castiel vibe in him, but it was if that lava under his cool volcanic surface had started to leak some, but it was also too hot. It was that _hot_ leaking from Dean that was now a part of Castiel. It didn’t feel right on either of them.

 _They’re still Right. But something’s_ not _right._

Stiles looked Castiel in the eyes, and it was if the angel knew that Stiles caught on that something was wrong.

And Stiles also knew by the way his spark was singing like a fucking canary towards these two that’d he’d be the one that’d have to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence/mutilation warnings: Dean tries to suffocate/strangle Cas and contemplates the results of it, but *slight SPOILER* it's not of his own volition. We all know he loves the fuck out of Cas, and would never intentionally hurt the angel
> 
> There you have it! Thanks for taking the time out to read! I really appreciate the comment, kudos, subscribers etc. I've been getting for this story. You guys are truly the best, and I thank you all for being patient! Any questions? You can comment or just shoot me an e-mail (info on my profile) or just drop in to say hello:) I don't bite ;) I hope you all enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it! Thanks for taking the time out to read! Any questions you can comment or just shoot me an e-mail (info on my profile) or just drop in to say hello:) I hope you all enjoyed!


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